John Carter Brown

One March Monday morning
A dark dismal day,
The snow slowly sleeting,
We wending our way.

Just two tired tradesmen
In life's lonely lanes,
Both thoughtlessly thinking
Of bed in our brains.

Temptation entreating us,
'Wait a wee while...
Why have you to hurry? '
It says with a smile.

But we will not wait
Or sit silently still
'Til the day's deeds are done,
We must make to the mill;

There to firstly fulfil
Our unchanging chores,
And to feel like two felons
Behind dungeon-like doors.

We will work at our weaving
For pennies, not pounds;
A lugubrious life,
Then a grave in the ground.

Written March 1995