That old red tin barn smelled
of last years, vast years
chopped hay and chickens’ droppings
childhood days spent, spent
exploring corners of haylofts,
straw castles and rat runs,
hens’ nests, hidden
hoards of illicit eggs,
probably fine to eat,
probably safe.
Barn
24 Friday Oct 2025
Posted in Poetry
The Write Idea 
This poem really reminds me of my childhood on a farm. Wonderful!
Thanks Susan, I can still smell that hay dust.
Sounds like bits of my childhood
Good memories, I hope.
I envy you this experience. I do remember visiting my cousins in Cape Breton and going on a drive up the road to pick up fresh milk. While the adults chatted, we kids hung out in the barn with the cows and some kittens. I was in heaven!
That sounds very special, I spent half of my childhood on a family friend’s farm, a small, old fashioned mixed stock. We milked by hand and the horse was named Ajax, happy days.
You really brought the sensual experience to life.
Thank you, it’s still close to my heart.