Cast against a winter sky
Its grey sky uniformly clad
Met the white plain land
The stubble of corn relics
They poke through the snow
Walking to warm the body
To distract a somber mood
A stand of trees distant, clear
An island remnant of a forest
The winds exploit its sparsity
The day's hues of bland cold
There alone in wilderness
Shedding still the weather
The vestiges of a vardo
It lies in ruin rejected
An air of wonderment there
Its cut of a past wanderer
A time before civilization yet
When the land was forests
And each day too, uncertain
The relics speak of lives ago
That hewed the forest primeval
Its lumber spanned barn, a home
No nails, but pegs and sound
That stood tribute for ages
The generations progressed
Children plentiful, cold nights
They grew up and went away
Left the farm 'til none did stay
Forsaken to the elements then
Now, none but memories remain
The house, the barn, that vardo
They are all gone, gone from sight
Kept near, in the vardo of the mind
Traveling on, drifting through time