In the silence of the old barn,
It is still but for the rain that pats the shakes
As clouds peek through the roof.
New moss grows green,
Clinging to aged rafters
And hanging ropes,
Coloring the brown walls with life.
The regal cat,
Eager for attention,
Calls out plaintively in the cold,
Rushing to be adored.
Webs cling to the walls,
Littered with dust and feathers,
Abandoned by spiders who seek warmer homes.
This is quite old. I'd forgotten that I had the idea to post my poetry under a different username, and deleted it from this account.
That was a silly thing to do.