SCENIC SUNDAYS: The Farm

THE FARM
By Alice P. Dorland

Among your childhood memories
Is there a farm?
And on this farm a wondrous barn,
Sweet, vast, and dusty dim,
With pigeons murmuring in the lofty cuppola
And moted sunlight filtering through the chinks?

Our childhood barn had hand-hewn beams
Festooned with wisps of hay,
And in their corners spiders spun their webs.
Remember how we children walked those beams
And dared each other jump from this high one or that
To fragrant slippery hay below
Where kittens were at play?

Remember the old shepherd dog
That helped round up the cows each day,
And how they marched into the barn,
Each to her accustomed stall?

I still hear the soft, padded sound
Their hooves made on the wooden floor;
Their tossing heads and swooshing tails,
The sound of milk hitting the pails...
Remember its sweet smell.

Remember the young calves at play,
That let us pat their heads
And rub the knobbly little bumps
That would be horns someday?
Remember their inquiring eyes,
Their rough pink tongues,
Their soft brown fur?

The kindly stalwart horses, too,
Were our good friends.
I feel, again, old Prince's velvet lips
As he took apples from my little palm.

Of all my childhood memories
The carefree days upon the farm
Remain the happiest!