“The Water Mill”

As the shadows of the maples
Creep across the old mill pond,
And the sunset gilds the treetops
On the hillside far beyond,

I can see the shadowed valley,
Walled in by the hills of green,
With its meadows, and its cornfields,
And the river in between.

There’s the village of my boyhood,
Little changed since days gone by;
There’s the church spire…reaching upward,
Pointing to the Hoosier sky.

The old mill is abandoned,
Oh! how lonely it appears;
Now forsaken and forgotten,
Falling victim to the years.

I can feel a glow within me
From old memories that burn,
And again my heart is wishing
That the old mill wheel would turn.

I recall the days of boyhood,
When with dog and willow pole
I roamed the beaten pathways
To the mill pond fishin’ hole.

When my father drove the wagon
Down the bumpy old mill road,
Oh! what a thrill it always was
Perched high upon a load.

When the kind old bearded miller
Would reach up and help me down,
And give me store-bought candy
That he had brought from town.

But no more I’ll see the corn shocks
Stand like teepees on the hill,
And no more I’ll hear the creaking
Of the ancient water mill.

The valley seems forsaken,
And my dreams are filled with pain,
For I know the ancient mill wheel
Will never turn again.

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