John Rickell

(I November 1931 / York)

The Water Mill


So calm the river
No rain since Mothers' Day,
Willow twigs in flower vases
Grand children and their daffodils.
Bread crumbs chased by ducklings,
Sophisticated swans and elegance
Float by and choose, un-coil their necks
Take the best, leaving crusts
To the rampant drakes,
Serene return to the middle pool.
Glide towards the mill
Its 'race smooth, glazed and dark,
The wheel un-turned for many years
Ferns and moss caught in its teeth
Slate tiles crashing to the cinder path
A warning sign, hid by brambles,
Never heeded, no longer needed
The steps long since gone.
Grace and dereliction combined,
Smooth white necks and angel wings
Rotting wood and rusty nails.

Submitted: Thursday, February 20, 2014
Edited: Thursday, February 20, 2014

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