Grandmother place

In the amber glow of sunset's sigh,

Stands a barn, weathered 'neath the sky.

A timeworn relic, echoes of yore,

A sanctuary my grandmother bore.

In the patchwork quilt of fading light,

The barn emerges, a silhouette bright.

Timbers seasoned by the hands of time,

A memoir etched in every grain and line.

The rusty latch creaks with whispered tales,

Of harvest moons and autumn gales.

The scent of hay, a nostalgic spell,

Within the barn, where memories dwell.

Weathered boards, adorned with years,

Witness to laughter and joyous tears.

The rafters hum with a rustic song,

Of hard-won battles and days so long.

Sunflowers nod in the golden field,

A testament to a love revealed.

In the quiet hush, a familial charm,

A legacy woven in the old farm barn.

Weather vanes tell tales of breezes past,

As shadows dance, memories cast.

In the loft, where the swallows nest,

The spirit of my grandmother finds its rest.

Through seasons draped in quilted hues,

The barn stands firm, a guardian muse.

A relic of stories, a cherished bower,

The old farm barn, my grandmother's flower.