Old Mill Stream in Poems

The Isolation Verses, poem 1

“How strange,” the people all say,
“That Mother Nature should come out to play
Just as the rest of us tuck ourselves away.”

“No matter,” says the stream babbling by,
“I’ll still sparkle beneath the spring sky.
What good does it do to ponder why, why, why?”

“I don’t mind,” sings the bird in the tree.
“I’ll fly and chirp and continue to be.
None of it makes any difference to me.”

“That’s just fine,” says the blossom, brand new.
“I’ll bloom just the same for you,
each day with the fresh morning dew.”

“The world will go on,” says the sun up above.
“I’ll warm the fields and your window with love,
And after - we’ll move on more thoughtfully, in memory of.”

**It’s been years since I’ve written poems with any regularity. But my walk the other day through the old part of our village caused the first line to write itself. There’s an ancient mill house, built in Tudor times. The old mill stream flows happily and quietly, surrounded by new growth. Grass, shrubs, daffodils. New trees blossoming. And it all just got me thinking.

Last updated April 06, 2020