The barn mamma built on the hill above the pasture years
ago brought to life the big, stubborn, black-maned mare,
who trotted the haul up the hillside pasture when mamma came home each
night, to the little house below, by the little garden grove.
The big black barn that was crammed with hay,
brought play and life to the vermillion headed
youngling,
who would go fast down the path after mamma as she met the
mare, just a shout from the little house lined by mamma’s lilacs.
The barn that was built with tack and loft, and sweat,
brought to life the caught-red-handed ransacking
raccoon, who was hungry, so was welcome.
He would go fast to the rafters when he heard mamma walk
up annoyed yet joyed at her frightened new friend.
The barn that was built on the hill below the mountain that just grazed the tree
line brought to life all of the little beings that followed
how great the team could and surely would be, thought
mamma, who loved and listened and
though the followers whined and begged, they were loved each day, and fed.