The Cold Mill

‘So gone now are the days of summer
When heat stayed over our walls,
Forever our days are growing colder,
Colder is the miller’s home.
Now the winter days approach,
Wonder what the winter holds?
The mill is cold now, the wheat is gone,
The wood and stone forever rot.
So comes the time when ice is grated
And crushed beneath the grindstone,
The frost is crackling worse than grains
And sheath the scythe which is hone.
The cold mill will grind not wheat or corn,
Nor touch the grass this winter night.
Coming now the dark descending,
Cold and eerily lingering blight.
So gone now are the days of summer
When heat strayed over our walls,
Forever our days are growing colder,
Colder is the miller’s home.’ – Kester Rose

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