The Old Mill

glade-creek-grist-mill-located-in-babcock-state-park-west-virginia-brendan-realsThe pristine stream through fertile lands
Spills oer the sluice where the old mill stands
The tides of time upon it fall
With feet of stone and weathered wall

Where once the mighty water wheel
Powered the stone that ground the meal

The nectar of the crop ripe fields
The cornucopic seasons yields

Long gone the days when wagons drawn
Rich with loads of wheat and corn
Relented to the mills demand
Transformed by millers calloused hand

Yet today the stream still reigns
Like time, it passes, but remains
Silently it rambles still
Reflecting memories of the mill

About oldmainer

I am a retired manager living in Southern Maine and a would be writer of poetry, narratives, short stories, and random opinions, and that's how Oldmainer was born. Recently, I decided to try an experiment. I added photography to the mix, using only a cheap cell phone with a limited camera and the editing software that came with it, and added the blog site Inklings at poormanspoet.wordpress.com to showcase the results. So, feel free to use whatever you find interesting or worthy, but please honor the terms of my copyright when and if you do. They may not be much, but they are still a piece of me. I appreciate your checking me out and hope that you find something that will encourage a return visit. Thanks for stopping by.
This entry was posted in Beauty, Generations, History, Life, Memories, Mills, Poetry, Reflection, Rhyme, Tribute and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to The Old Mill

  1. scifihammy says:

    I really enjoyed reading your poem. Excellent. 😀

    Like

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