For long spells the flour mill closed
And the waterwheel would be overrun
By morning glories,
Even anchored by the vines,
Like a wreath for the funeral of the sun.
Other times I thought the wheel
Like a seasonal clock
Endazzled by its own reflection
In the sunken mirrors of the earth.
For all we know another wheel
Turns the wheel;
Another sun inside the sun
Outlasts the waterwheel
And the bread of dumb flesh,
Producing the flour of morning glories
Spread beyond its grindstone,
Beautiful as a second coming
That never arrives.
we know another wheel Turns the wheel; Another sun inside the sun. from a meditation of nature to a great philosophy leading to spirituality.. thank u dear poet. tony
Thank you for your comment. I'm happy the poem touched you. Best wishes, Sal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Wow! Great poetry, Salvatore. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.