L Milton Hankins Poet Rhyme

At the Old Grist Mill

Water rises in damp clouds above the falls
Red from the old grist mill reflecting through
The backlighting sunshine causing ethereal
Rainbow-like patterns in the mistiness, while
I watch the gigantic wheel fling cold water
Downstream where it plunges into the murk,
Creating a deep hole not suitable for diving
And too dangerous for children to swim in, so,
I slip my bare feet over the moss-covered ledge
Dangling them above the stream’s updraft,
Watching them come soaking wet and clean
At the end of my sopping brand new jeans. 

written November 5, 2021

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Caren Krutsinger November 9, 2021 at 7:43 AM I love this one; it reminds me of the old grist wheel at the Iowa State Fair. We all loved it! L Milton Hankins November 9, 2021 at 9:13 AM Aren't they special? I love to visit them.

Gershon Wolf November 6, 2021 at 9:30 PM I just love your poems about the sights, sounds, and experiences of our vanishing childhoods, about things like this grist-mill. Very special, my friend. Thank you, Gershon L Milton Hankins November 7, 2021 at 9:27 AM Thank you, Gershon. When someone likes a poem I wrote, my happy heart sings! Have a great day, friend.