While in its prime before the war
 It sheltered beast and stover,
And in its loft, behind its door,
 It gave young lovers cover.

I go there now and then to sit
 Beside this dying ember,
To wait, to hear, to learn from it
 Till blue skies turn to amber.

Though eras pass and life goes on
 It’s good that we remember,
The time that’s now will soon be gone
 And May will be December.

Yet, old gray barns have much to share
 If we will hear their story,
And take the time to show we care
 As they relive their glory.