/conclusion/

The snow has begun to fall, drifting swiftly
Down from the darkness to blanket the
Rooftops and lampposts— he runs a
Hand over the old, worn wood of the door,
Taking in the soft hum of living
Life that moves peacefully inside
And the strong scent of freshly cut hay
And he steps out from the warmth
And slides the door shut with a muffled thud,
Leaving the old barn to sleep the night away.