Thursday 20 October 2011
Run of the Mill
Words fall into my face,
none sparks my interest –
no recognition in the eyes.
death of vigour and fascination.
The vicar intoning, unaware of his needy
congregation. Gazing at the light
through stained glass,
I see my own imagination.
Words running ceaselessly round the wheel.
Run of the mill, without meaning or energy.
© Valerie Taylor
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