Old barn, your wood is worn and gray,
Your roof is rusting too.
You’re leaning to your left a bit
With passageways askew.
Old tree, your trunk is black with age,
Your limbs now have no leaves.
There are no longer branches swaying
With whispers from the breeze.
We share sweet memories we do,
Of many years gone by.
When livestock grazed and sheltered here
Under the Texas sky.
I’m old and weak with worn out bones,
The three of us as one.
Someday they’ll put us all to rest
Linking today with Rubbish by Roan , Good Fences and Two Shoes Tuesday. Josie's words for Tuesday are whisper and sweet. Thanks for hosting, Ladies!