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osage orange hedge tree gnarly old near a rustic old weathered barn in a meadow with flowers
The old barn stands, weathered and worn,
A testament to a time now gone,
Its paint peeling, its wood forlorn,
Old barn memories, forever drawn.
The hayloft, once filled with bales,
Now empty, save for the spider's tales,
The stalls that housed the horses' trails,
Old barn memories, they never fail.
The scent of hay, still lingers there,
As does the sound of horses' fare,
And memories of times we shared,
Old barn memories, beyond compare.
The barn may be old and frail,
But its memories will never pale,
For it holds a story to regale,
Old barn memories, a timeless tale.
