Waiting to Fall

Crippled and broken cornstalks;
pierce a field of waist-high grass
a weathered gray barn still stands
about a mile from the overpass

She was once the pride of the valley
where the harvest of plenty was kept
but now that there isn't any
she stands empty and windswept

She held the hope of America
so gently in her arms
and graced the land with bounty
from orchards, fields and farms

Farmers, crippled and broken
Watch their children leave the land
But whether epitaph or token,
The weathered gray barn still stands