Best Millpond Poems

The dawn sky throws a spear of vivid red
lancing the fir treetops, but not yet me
with my bag of bread.
The wheel is still asleep, the water still,
seems today we all have time to kill.
Scan the surface with imagination's eye
waiting for Excalibur to rise,
but no- just...

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The millwheel will not turn again till spring
for Winter’s icy cold grip holds it firm.
She squeezes it like Her private plaything,
though Her crushing power is but short-term.

As shorter days subtly lengthened; the sun
slowly began to liquefy the ice. 
And the waterwheel shook, and almost spun,...

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Beside the millpond, musing,
Of another day and time—
At times my mind confusing 
Both reality, and rhyme.

It is an easy thing to do, you see,
With the buckets timely turn—
What is this thing called poetry,
What from it do we learn?

Seems with every splash, and breath of breeze,
Do...

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