Bales of hay line the walls
dust settles on them like snow falling.
The sun brightens the space left
surrounding the small trap door.

Spider webs and mice nests
hide in the rafters and lay in wait
to be discovered by small hand and bright eyes.

The conveyor belt leans just inside its door.
Strings of baler’s twine hang limp
from the iron belt’s teeth.

Beware as you walk in my small haven
for wires and bulbs hang low.
I lay atop the tallest pile,
one that doesn't quite reach the top,
and I watch the dust fall like snow
on my small hayloft haven.

 
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