Red Barnhouse
Worn, weathered, smothered, soft
As if hands had been smoothing 
Down its surface for ages
We ran our fingers on the planks 
No splinters, no splinters
The porch invited us to sit
And live and rock a while
We obliged the empty chairs
You and me, we obliged
And I was happy there 
Indoors, the braided rug
was a cushion under our feet
You were never loud, only quiet
And you never needed the rug
You –
Walked softly on the creaking 
She was born there
Sweet sticky-faced cheeked
And she needed the rug 
Crawling on knees, or tippy-toe
And her feet were happy there
And it was only a dream, all of it
And I was happy there.