Christine Marion Fraser

“the old house,
in the lee of the hills,
surrounded by relics
of the old powder mill.

the ancient stones silent,
the water wheels still,
but yet there is life
in the ruins of the mill.

the birds and the sheep
find shelter to sleep
the fisherman fish
in the river so deep.

the flowers of the forest
carpet the glades.
and the frogs they are leaping
down in the lades.

laughter bygone
forever is still
yet the echoes still linger
here in the mill.

voices come whispering
from the century that was
and dash is just resting
under the moss.

on nights of bright moon
flooding over the hill
I sense the life breathing
here, in the mill.

and here in the house
time beats gently past
as it has done before
and will to the last.”
― Christine Marion Fraser, Green Are My Mountains