Solitary Walks – IV

Out on the edge, a barn of certain age
Sits waiting, though abandoned long ago.
I’d bring him comfort, if I could assuage
His loneliness with anything I know:
But he’s a stolid, stoic sort of sage,
Who takes his comfort where he finds it. So —

Instead, I look inside to where the light
Is shining on the lumber with regret;
I think it’s likely spooky here at night,
The kind of place that friends go on a bet
You’re pranking, watching as they reach full flight
After the joke is sprung you lately set.

The barn, though, disapproves this sort of joke:
He’s got his dignity, this lonely bloke —

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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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