poddarku (poddarku) wrote in borntowrite,

the old mill

The old mill, Sudbury

Tired as he is, he will go on.
The destination is coming
nearer each time he defies
his fatigue. Aching feet tells to
take a bit of time beside the path,
under that summerful tree and
dream of his home, his own old mill
at Sudbury. His travels through
distant corners has gifted him
exotic colors in his dreams.
He can see the soft grass about
his house. The sound of red wheel pumping
water echoes. Fruits have been processed,
preserved and labeled. A slumber
has returned to its nest, in the eyes
of his mother. He can see the
mother’s hand printed china and
flowers brought by neighborhood girl.
Tired as he is he can dream
a thousand shades on those petals.
A bird is calling. This side of
consciousness or the other? He
wonders and still dreams.
The old mill, Sudbury, his own
home or is it just a painting!
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