Green Mill Poem by Zoran Bogdanovic

On that particular night
I sat in the Green Mill;

on that particular night
descended the first chill,
and still… the summer was still.

It was in my heart,
it was on my mind,
it was there to find
and enjoy before we part.

On that particular night
totally against my will,
in a desperate flight
from life, seeking thrill,
and crowd and light…

I walked into the Green Mill
where trumpets were playing
in the first autumn chill;

I hoped my pain
with music to kill.