Whispers in the Wall
The old wheel creaks and groans
Prefers days of gentle water flow
When not too much is expected of it.
The trickling stream caresses memories
Of days long gone
When the churning meant productivity.
Now the ghosts in the walls
Whisper of past glory days
Of laughter at the end of a day’s work
And drinking and eating late into the night.
Now it’s a matter of time
Neglect and progress has superseded
Its purpose and usefulness.
A relic to the past,
The whispers in the walls are all that is left
They engage with each other
Regaling tales of underdogs and topdogs,
For there is no one else.