The barn door hangs open, the horses long gone;
The occupants now a doe and her fawn.
A few crumbling bales of once sun-sweetened hay
Make moldy straw homes for field mice to play.
High on the wall on a big rusty nail
Is all that remains of the old milking pail.
The stanchion is sagging, its floor pulled apart;
As she looks in the door there's an ache in her heart.
She mourns for the days that she once had
With her man and her child--and Mother and Dad.
It hurts to remember how their world used to be
When life was simple as they could live free.
They had ducks and chickens, goats, sheep and a cow;
They had dogs and rabbits, cats, geese and a sow.
They swung their scythes on hillsides of wheat
And hand-cut the grain their horses would eat.
All seeds they planted and covered by hand;
They cherished and used every parcel of land.
They worked very hard for their livelihood,
Their love made them rich--life together was good.
The years have rolled on to a different day,
And she's left here alone to age and to gray.
The playhouse that clings in the crotch of the tree
Is barren and empty inside--like her.