Mills and Hills

by Jackie Darnbrough

Defiant by verdant hills

moribund in smoke  darkened majesty

chimney stack piercing a violet stained sky.

 

No more echoes

of clogs on  cobbles

whirring looms  –  clattering and chattering,

grey iron thud of  engine that powers.

 

Now you are derelict, deserted, dead

yet standing  and waiting in darkening decline,

your legacy neglected  by the town that you fed.

 

You still hold the spirit of loss and dark grief

of children who laboured  and ailed

of those who had toiled

now lost to the dust.

 

Yet still hear the mill stream’s

lonely soliloquy

untouched panorama of emerald  and gorse.

The mill and the hills and the past that was lost

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