1The languid pace of time instills
A fond nostalgic air,
And fumes that taste of times long past
Make all things seem so fair.
The oaken planks that make the walls
Around this lonely barn
Are rotting in their dreary age.
They hold an aging charm.
And haystacks, piled not too high,
Make homeliness complete.
It is a place of fun and love,
Where children often fleet.
And once upon a happy time,
A child played inside.
He conquered stacks of mountained hay
And gave the cats a fright.
A sparrow perched upon supports
So far above the boy.
He heard its song and pondered that,
And then went back to toys.
The sparrow made an awkward flight
Into a hollowed patch,
And so the boy gave swift a chase,
In hopes of a good catch.
He jumped right down into the hay,
As rays of light beamed down.
He saw the bird as it laid there,
Amid its fluffed straw mound.
He watched its breath as it declined,
And wonders tall and grand
Zipped through his mind of innocence.
He took some straw and fanned.
The tiny bird shifted its wings.
It turned its eyes aside,
And then the boy was made aware
Of what it had to hide.
He did not want the bird to die.
He wanted it to live,
But all the hope that he could hope
Was not enough to give
The bird another single breath.
The young boy gave a sigh,
And all the stillness of the air
So short a roof made high.
The tight-spun corners of that shed
Seemed far around to stretch.
The sheefs of hay stacked not five high
Seemed the clouds to fetch.
The world, in fact, which seemed so small
So short a time before
Seemed infinite in all its spans.
This thought the young boy bore.
Soon the sparrow lost its life,
The boy his peace of mind,
And that old barn which once was grand
Took meaning of new kind.