There is an old red barn,
Just below my Grandma’s house.
Where the boards are coming loose.
So is the siding and the door.
The wind howls a haunted noise,
Even to the old wooden floor.
“For” this is where my heart belongs”
These are the memories, I long for.
The times of climbing up into the loft,
To jump off into the hay.
Beneath me, Grandma milks the cows,
While feeding the kitty cat,
As she licks her paws away,
Grandma and I gather the buckets,
To carry the milk to the house,
When the cat runs a little mouse.
Into the old red barn,
How I love living on a farm.
– Nancy Lee Armstrong