The Mill-hers tale

The Mill-Hers tale

In the gladiatorial Pollard place
An aging warrior rested on his shield
He sought the emperor's seal, a job well done

Act one's curtain fell upon the awesome stage
Platitudes fell from Botty's soothing lips
Her tiny chicks had survived the wolf out there

But what about the fearsome hound from within?
Who strode upon the stage with fierce intent
"So you think you deserve to rest your weary backs!"

"Time is but a shadow past.
All contained within pales before the coming storm
The reaper for you awaits with menacing calm."

The arrogance of the prophet to call my labours light
Contentment turned to muted fury in my heart
Engaging others thoughts I swift began to probe

I had to search what seemed a darkened soul
How was I to know she was to be my greatest friend?
That to her and her alone I could my fears confide.

We never fought a battle from that day on
Except to stand together and face the gathering storm
She never, ever let me down or hurt my fragile ego

The Nightingale sang for Crimea's battered men
Yet for me the wounds were dressed by the gentle Mill-her.
The odd couple who dwelt adjacent and shared the pastoral role.
But she it was who cried for me when the prophecy came to be.

To a very dear friend

GRAHAM FEWELL