"On Uncle John's Farm," a poem by Charmane Rae Kelley

"On Uncle John's Farm,"  by Charmane Rae Kelley
 
The smell of old splashed milk 
in the cracks of the floor, 
and time-aged wood; 
uneven and weathered; 
Built many years before; 
 
A barn, lonely on Morey hill; 
A farmer, old and 
can barely see, still 
works in the wee morning 
hours; tending cows, 
calves and horses to feed; 
 
As he creaks open the door 
at frosty dawn, kittens mew 
at his feet as he walks down 
the manger strewing fodder; 
Another day, even harder 
than yesterday; 
 
The same strides; horses waiting for 
their oats; Finally, he sits 
on a stool, crooked and worn, 
by their side; Grabbing udders, 
milk streaming warm; 
Into the pail; One by one, 
until all are done; 
 
A few light bulbs 
illuminate dimly, 
but he knows what 
has to be done; the children 
watch by, told to stay away, 
so as to not get harmed; 
 
They go play in the hay; 
Another taboo, as "pitchforks 
could be there", he says; 
Words not heard, off they go; 
 
Without a word, jumping 
from high on the top floor; 
Into the sweet, musty hay 
near the floor; A soft bed 
as they jump; What fun! 
as the crack in the roof 
streams in the sun; 
 
Later, a ride on old Dan, or Tom; 
With flanks so warm; 
On uncle John's farm.

Poet's Note:
Where this poem comes from within me relates to my spending time at my uncle John's (John Morey) farm in Wolcott, Vermont.  It is a way for me to remember everything about him and his farm.  From the smell of splashed milk as it sat on the floor of the milkroom. (No one had time to clean it up during milking), to the sound of kittens (about 15) mewing for some of the warm milk. He was always warning us not to walk in back of the cows because he was afraid that we would get kicked. He must have said that a thousand times. When we got bored from watching him milk the cows and feed the horses, we would go on the upper floor level of the barn which overlooked the hay bins. It was so much fun to jump from that high into the hay.