This poem was somewhat of a surprise to me. I know that sounds strange, but I was headed in one direction and all of a sudden I found myself taking another path. (sort of like life, I guess) Now this is free verse poetry and I hope you see the picture it paints.
Textured by Time
Paint peels; reveals silver splinters
amidst the gray grain of winter-warped wood.
Once a showplace, now a showcase of hard times.
Rusty tears, from too many years of neglect,
weep from 10-penny punctures.
Once a haven for Herefords;
twice a day hay,
3 legged stools and galvanized pails.
Now, musty and dusty;
a home for birds and barn kitties.
Once sturdy and straight;
now stoop shouldered and
textured by time.
But, still beautiful, some say, in a natural way.
Barns are like that.
Once brown and bushy
now silver streaked and scarce,
covered by a tractor hat in need of an oil change.
Penny candy pockets,
all tickles and teasing.
A soft touch at bedtime.
Once lean and feisty now leaning and forgetful;
Once raising cane now held upright by one.
Textured by time
but beautiful, some say, in God’s way.
Grandpas are like that.
Jeff Hildebrandt © 2006