THAT OLD MILL poem

That Old Mill

is alive in the light of day

harsh wind grabbing
your windpipe, breath of winter-chill

icicle eyes staring dimly
at the scene, leftover pussy
willows as
stiff fingers beside river’s bank.

Within view an ancient mill
memories
dulled
by the passage of time.

Images of life return as a photo
album, deer
within shadows
cows flicking horse flies

kids painting the barn and
three dogs chasing.

Childhood is splashing in the
creek, pages from life
a long time ago.

© 2003 Richard L. Provencher
All Rights Reserved

first published August 2003
Sentinel Poetry Magazine, UK