by Andrew J. Müller

November mist
Hang in heavy drapes
Curtains of vapour hide the sight
Long straight river
Merge into the fog.

Bone cold, wet morning
Field of black mud
Clings to your shoes as you walk
Along the path
To the Old Mill House.

Sun breaks through
In a golden shaft
And sprinkles light on water
You stand and gaze
On the Welland’s banks.

Curlew call
A lonely cry
As if it knows the solitude
You are alone here
Far from anywhere.

No boat, no car
No plane
No tractor disturbs the quiet
Just the gentle ripple
Of peat-black waters.

And the mist
Descends again
To cut off the horizon
And fold you into
Its chilly arms.

This poem appears alongside many others by Andrew in BeWrite Books's "Shaken and Stirred: Poetry from the Far Corners" published in 2002.

Back to Andrew J. Müller

© Text copyright - Raving Loony Productions and Andrew J. Müller
© Web Design and Layout - Andrew J. Müller
2002