Phoenix

It was finally felled by great gusts,
Gutted, it had no bones for its iron skin.
So it fell.
Mostly.
The large timber posts held.
Half the gabled roof hangs.
With each new blast of wind, the loosened iron sheets,
"Clatter and clang, clatter and clang."

We are here today, along with the wind,
To salvage the best it can offer.
We collect and sort the iron,
That has flown to all corners of the paddock.
The playful wind tugs it from our grasp.
Continuing its game.

Then the fallen rafters and batons are liberated.
But we trip over haphazard debris.
And the uncovered rabbit warrens.
Having the last laugh,
The wind whips our hair into our eyes.

But we are not deterred.
In our mind's eye, the shed,
That will rise again in a new location,
On our farm.