“I am weary,”
thought the birch, bent through the years looking at the mill near by.
“Yet I can sing when the wind isn’t very kind, and shed my leaves from sturdy branch.
Though my tone has changed, bending with the times, my note has always been by chance.
“I was boarded up,”
thought the mill, “after the Suncook dam and I made our majestic stand.
The river ? No longer its familiar roar, its course changed, trickling quite tamed,
mature reflection in dignity, still flows with its original name.”
Walking off main street past the empty boarding houses
(now apartments for rent including hot water and heat)
past the empty stores with vacant space to lease,
past a surviving pizza parlor at the bottom of the hill
grandmother with grandchild in a stroller crosses the bridge,
smiles at the birch tree and passing by the mill;
hums a tune so completely off key, yet it’s source, soothes
the baby, unscrambling the dreams only tomorrow can bring.
(Note: 2011 re-post; for final 2014 proof for Publication…maybe 🙂