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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
All rights reserved

1 comment:

witcomb said...

A fine terse well crafted poem. Good work my dear.