• The Mill
    That I knew so well,
    I could not believe,
    How unused it looked.
    I remembered
    How my Mother would send me there,
    For the fresh Bread.
    I remembered the strict guard.
    His face was always pale white,
    Like he had the plague.
    They wouldn't let and ill person
    Guard such a fresh, clean place?
    I longed for that bread.
    Without thinking
    I ran
    Into my death.