Rated: E · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2159744
The buzzing saws quit snarling and rattling, spitting out piles of dust and long boards.
|The Saw Mill|
When I was a boy I thought it was a magic place,
A sanctuary away from life and routine,
Where I could wander like a summer’s breeze,
Building dreams and childhood memories.
The buzzing saws quit snarling and rattling,
spitting out piles of dust and long boards.
The sweet-scented scent wafted free,
Blowing across the hills like memory.
One afternoon Mr. Sessions loaded up
Razor edged saws and sharp tooth blades
Leaving only sawdust up to the knee,
Fresh cut piles of lumber just a memory.
The old water wheels, no longer turning;
Rusted, and slowly sank into the brook.
Generations of children, growing like trees,
Now wade and fish and make memories.
The stone and cement dam washed away
And the empty mill leans dangerously,
Askew on aged timbers from another century
Like another house haunted in memory.
Some would say it is better this way,
what is old should go to make way for new,
like tides and the ever changing seas,
But often times romance lives in memories.
One day soon I shall wander again
Along Abbott’s Brook to the old mill
And rest among the fall colored trees,
sharing someone else’s memories.
Long before my boyhood wanders and exploration
Up the creaky stairs and ladders and into lofts
Among mice nests, and the drone of bees
The mill was imprinted with lovers’ memories.
While being courted by that Farnum boy
Grace would wander to the mill house
And leave notes for her love in a tree;
Every day creating; the stuff of memory.
Meet me by the moonlight, beautiful and bright,
I will be waiting for you at eleven tonight.
Beside the rocky stream so pretty,
We will make an eternal memory.
If the walls of the old mill could talk,
If simple wooden beams could see,
What a tale they would tell you and me,
About love’s sweet, sweet memory.
Behind an old board is a faded box;
tattered words and poems,future plans,
love written in every word of these,
The mill hides and keeps these memories.
When I was a boy I thought it was just my magic place,
But I hope the old saw mill still makes your heart race.
May it always make your smile come free,
And love always be more than just a memory.