Volume II, No. 3, Spring 1975


by Patti Jones

The gushing water that streams o'er the rocks
In speeding currents blue,
Makes way to places of yesterday--
Places I never knew.

For I was born in a later time
Of crowds and city ways,
When children played at sidewalk games
No thought of yesterdays.

I'm older now and long to know
The millers and farmers too,
The simple, hard-working men of old--
People I never knew.

I've read of times when water mills
Would draw all families around
To come and grind their corn to meal,
Then sack in hundred pounds.

And while they amiably waited their turns,
The day's work rapidly flew,
The miller nodded and grinned to all--
Work I never knew.

Instead of idly biding their time,
Gay girls splashed through the streams.
They'd laugh amid the plants, and fish
And steep in Sol's bright beams.

Then folks would eat together as one
Beneath a shade tree or two,
Enjoying their chicken dinners and pies--
Communion I never knew.

The helping each man load his flour,
The packing of corn meal,
And people long since moved on their ways --
Just memories lingering still.

The gushing water still streams o'er the rocks
In speeding currents blue,
And carries hints of yesterdays'
Places I never knew.


Copyright © 1981 BITTERSWEET, INC.

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