Timothy Devers / West Jessamine
Walking out into the fields,
the grass rustling with the wind.
Black fences riming the plot,
chipped and worn all along the stretch.
Looking up at the barn,
massive in size.
The walls in agony,
creaking with every movement.
Pulling open the doors,
hearing it resist.
Looking in, small piles of hay,
rusting instruments line a wall,
wishing to be used again.