Llancayo Mill - Myfanwy Haycock (1913-1963)

Beyond the tufty- fingered hedge.

Across the misty meadow.

The old mill rises in a wedge

Of silver shadow.

Like some old woman dozing there

Beside the drowsy river

With straggling straw-threads in her hair

And bones a-shiver

She mumbles grumbles with a frown

At every drifting year-

Hush! With a rush there clatters down

A stony tear

She hears no more the taunting howls

Of twisted windy laughter

Nor heeds the haunting hoots of owls

From crumbling rafter:

And while she dumbly, glumly grieves

That she is grey and old

Her thick green shawl of ivy leaves

Keep out the cold

She sits where she has always sat

And though her head is bent

She wears a seagull on her hat

As ornament

Her moss-patched skirt is faded brown

Her dull eyes dimly peer-

Hush! with a rush there clatters down

Another tear!

Across the fields the old old mill,

With sleepy senile wits,

Through summers heat and winters chill

Just sits and sits and sits.