My Father Corn Mill

Standing in the center of my father’s village Is a mysterious corn mill Which produces the worst of flour Even when served with the best of corns of the land So in hunger, his offspring always weep Across the coast off my father’s village Lies this giant but old corn mill Which receives grains from father’s fields To produce flour, honey and milk To serve and fill the mouths of its offspring Sometimes to the benefit of those not his offspring So why should the corn mill of my father breed the worst? Without a lesson from him that mills across the coast While the children of the land grow pale and frail The pawpaw’s bridegroom dances and waves Is it the chorus of the tunes that spreads loud from its wings? Or it’s a heritage that needs to be preserved to appease the gods So when would the miseries of my siblings come to rest Should I send spies to the corn mill we were once forced to build Or awake the doors of the gods with a penny To discover the corn mill and my father’s destiny