The Old Mills on the River

Twenty-three years ago, this month,
I first drove to this town —
The old mills on the river
There to greet me.

So many things have changed, since then:
This mills have all gone empty,
Now occupied by
College campuses.

I guess, after our toil is done,
There’s always time for learning;
Because it’s hard to know,
We always seek —

And of blue mornings, on this bridge,
I only have so many:
For desuetude is not
Ever
The end

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Owen Servant