Nearing a small growing town
of cookie cutter houses
with cookie cutter spouses
on cookie cutter streets
where manicured lawns meet.
Where cookie cutter stores
in cold monotony bores.
Suddenly there’s a clearing
with a barn old and white
standing alone on its site
tin roof showing brown rust
covered with a coat of dust.
No cookie cutter building here
its uniqueness very clear.
It seems so out of place
as it stands there with grace
speaking of another day
which now seems far away
when originality ruled
before our cloning cooled
finding any new expression
with the deepest discretion.
How refreshing that small plot
standing like a well planned slot
in the midst of imitation
lacking any new creation
calls my heart to days of yore
which never seemed to bore
like conformity today
where nothing’s done another way.
May that barn fill my soul
and help my faith become whole
as I try not to conform
going along with the norm.
May that clearing like God’s Word
which is so seldom heard
as we sing cookie cutter songs
and practice cookie cutter wrongs
saying cookie cutter words
like we’re cookie cutter nerds.
Give us an old barn now
to help us pray and show us how
to find our own unique place
to serve God and the human race.
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Newfie hugs, Rose
That, for me, is the image of that old barn.
Georg