The Old Farmhouse        

The rafters held the Roof up high

Strong beams still ran their course 

Amid the soft sighs of the Wind 

An underlying Force—

Of times long gone from ages past 

Where Workers once made haste— 

Their footsteps etching on the planks 

Why now must it be Waste?

Only the Crow now caws it home 

He pecks leftover corn

Amidst the tanks of poison rust 

His Children will be born

So keep your footing airy, light 

Beware the rotten Wood—

And stand right there upon the Step 

Where the Farmer once stood—

Annie Putzke

Class of 2022