Tobacco Barns, Mt. Sterling
Wooden slats sneak peeks into pastures and
Stave off pitter-pattery rain as slivvery moonlight
Slips through praising the once proud king.
Weary, weather-worn, it still cures
A Progress Pandemic mere miles away
Where the world rushes west toward
Big City Business or east
To sit at the feet of the great
Here, no woe,
No gnashing of teeth.
No showy warnings.
Only steadfast attempts to
Waylay the future,
Stay in the moment,
Be in the now,
Fragrance poured onto the
Son of God,
Soon to be
Freedom soon poured out to