Village with Water Mill – A Poem by Theresa Burns

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Submitted by Theresa Burns
after the painting by Meyndert Hobbema

Someone is always returning
to a village with water mill.

Clouds, as usual, portend
his arrival. High and stern and cumular,

they compose themselves
above the trees.

Years he may have been gone,
or a fortnight. But the swift-moving

river, in what seems
without exception late April,

never slows. When he reaches the low
sloped house made of stones,

the windows invariably open,
always a still handsome woman leans

on the sill in a crisp kerchief
and wonders, as he approaches,

whose child it is beside him,
and in what room the boy will sleep.


Photo credit: Meyndert Hobbema – Village with Water Mill among Trees

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