THE MEN OF THE MILL

Late one night when all was still
a rumbling echoed from a distant hill,
it started out softly, a gentle hum,
a melodic, soothing, encouraging strum
waking the men of the mill.

They gathered together outside the door
not one of them there who could say for sure,
what could create such a rhythm so fine
without a word they formed a line
heading off through the forest to explore.

Captured by a mystical melody
each man climbed up in a tree
to where the sound filled the air,
it’s couldn’t be seen, only felt there
with an amazing intensity.

One man leapt into the night
released the branch he’d held so tight,
he gave himself up to the sky,
making no attempt to fly
just doing what felt right.

The others watched, expected to see
the end of one who once was free
to walk the earth, live a life
raise a child, love a wife
but that was not to be.

Caught in cloud filled with light
he’d become part of an amazing sight,
musicians appeared from everywhere
each of them sitting on a chair,
bringing to life the night.

Morganpoet