Fred the poet

The Beauty Of Rust

In the back of the barn
Behind old washing machines,
As hidden as memories,
That nobody sees,
Condemned to her silence
amid the droning of bees.
You can smell the old barn wood,
There’s used leather in there
Ragged and twisted
And a lot worse for wear.
Over the boxes, a seat for the truck
I stand in the clearing,
Amid generations of junk
She leans on her stand,
In the beauty of rust,
With glimpses of chrome
Is a layer of times dust.
The roads she once ventured
Come back into view,
The memories of time
And all that I knew.
Will she ride with the wind
Through a dream just once more
Or will she remain in the dark
On the old barn wood floor.
Where she leans on her stand
In the beauty of rust
With glimpses of chrome
In the layers of times dust.

Fred, a former radio voice and now the president of BC Fruit Growers

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