Winchester Trilogy II

Second post in the Winchester series for you…


II       Golden Grain

Grown from the ground,
From earth’s chalk & clay, grime & gravel,
Tight-folded granules of wheat—
The poor man’s gold—
Is grist to the mill.

Dusty with lowly soil
It bulges in shadowed sacks,
Dull & lifeless as ash
Until from the dry-store it’s poured
Rattling, scuttling down the hopper:

Nuggets crushed between grey jaws,
Between the furrowed grit-stones.
They utter no sound but the low, low groan
Of stone on stone as gold-dust
Turns soft as silk:

Brighter than chalk or silver,
Whiter than milk or light.

And flour blooms on the mill-house floor.

© Lizzie Ballagher

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