The Mill: A Winter Pastoral (25)
Tester’s Testament
This is the last time that I’ll sit
Slowly leafing through this log
Searching for a contact’s spark
To pierce my boredom’s lonely fog.
There’s hours when working in the mill
Seems like punishment for crime.
You’ve got a home and family
For that you’ve got to do your time.
It takes the strength of a serious man
To work on shift both day and night.
There’s character and dignity
In holding a job and doing it right.
But my time’s up, my Winter’s passed.
Though I hate to leave that steady pay
Spring’s lecherous tickling in my blood
Wont let me stay another day.
I take with me just a little money
But maybe more important still
I take a feeling of comradeship
With the men who remain and work at the Mill.
There isn’t much I can leave behind
As a legacy to share–
Just some contacts for a spark
To light the long nights in this chair.
