A Gate Poem by Douglas McClarty

The story of that rusting gate
That's stood here longer than me
Who thought, talked and planned
Where this fields gate would be.

The shape, the size, the cost
Who measured the length and height
And built the grand pillars of stone
To hang their thoughts, a gate.

Who forged the steel to make it
And hammered rivets in place
To create a unique masterpiece
The smithy, with a blackened face?

I have seen a Rembrandt, Monet,
And others hanging at the Tate
Picasso, Da Vinci and Van Gogh
But never this beautiful art, a gate.