Cogwheels
by Patience Lake
Creak.
The cogwheels turn.
The old mill stands alone.
It has a majestic air to it, like a king’s throne.
The cogwheels do so much, yet they are ignored.
Wheat goes in, flour comes out.
Creak, Creak, Creak.
Cogwheels
by Patience Lake
Creak.
The cogwheels turn.
The old mill stands alone.
It has a majestic air to it, like a king’s throne.
The cogwheels do so much, yet they are ignored.
Wheat goes in, flour comes out.
Creak, Creak, Creak.
Filed under Poems