There are barns that reek with cruelty,
with white washboards of dirty gray decay.
They stand barren against the bleakly sky
broken and worn from another day.
The wind now blows through them,
making sounds when the boards vibrate.
The barn keeps rhythms of the past,
whether good or whether it forsaken.
The winter’s expressions slide down the eaves,
of snow and ice and barren ground.
Now alone with all the memories,
making cracking gray barn sounds.
Happy Valentine’s Day
Shakespeare in his bloomers svelte
wrote of love and how he felt.
Yet he seemed to be confused
even in his witty muse.
He loved a lady fair with scarlet,
yet he often referred her harlot.
He loved a young male of letters wrote,
but begged him times a sorrowful note.
His mind of genius and of words,
repeated times are often heard.
In plays and sonnets and in verse,
thespians memories do rehearse.
So goes his thoughts of madness,
the soulful writer’s joy and sadness.
A Valentine’s Day of day’s remembrance
seek out your own Shakespearean semblance.
Copyrighted: 2007 CMM
Photo Copyrighted: 2003 CMM