Poem for February 23, 2032

IT stood in the sunset sky

Like the straight-backed down,

Many a time--the barn

At the edge of the town,

So huge and dark that it seemed

It was the hill

Till the gable's precipice proved

It impossible.

Then the great down in the west

Grew into sight,

A barn stored full to the ridge

With black of night;

And the barn fell to a barn

Or even less

Before critical eyes and its own

Late mightiness.

But far down and near barn and I

Since then have smiled,

Having seen my new cautiousness

By itself beguiled

To disdain what seemed the barn

Till a few steps changed

It past all doubt to the down;

So the barn was avenged.