“to the comets that missed this place <br />in their hot pursuit of infinity.” <br />From “Postcard from Lisbon”, <br />a poem by Joseph Brodsky <br /> <br />romping in the hay <br />chasing the barnyard rooster <br />spring-time, summer-time play <br />returning the stare of bovine gawkers <br /> <br />watching the milking of the cows <br />barn swallows diving in and out <br />looking in on the sow, <br />suckling piglets, milky snouts <br /> <br />after the garden-hoeing chores <br />splashing water at the cistern <br />riding astride the working horses <br />playing hide and seek taking turns <br /> <br />wheat fields heaving in the wind, <br />chickens scratching around the corn crib bin, <br />digging worms for fishing, <br />all my brothers antics <br /> <br />barn-weathered boards <br />framing today’s memories <br />of rustic times restored, <br />barnyard reveries.<br /><br />Ben Gieske<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/barnyard-memories/
