Monday, December 03, 2007

The sad story of Will Miller and Jill McGill

“There’s a miller name of Will in the windmill on the hill;
There’s a breeze in the sails but the blades are standing still…”
There’s a girl in this story too, you know. Jill McGill, age sixteen.

Anyways, the old mill is cursed or something. It grinds bone meal.
Jill comes by, they make love, he kills her. I don’t know why,
And neither does Will. Tilting at the windmill from within, so to speak.

In despair, he throws her body between the grindstones.
Laughing, he throws himself from the cap of the tower.
His ghost returns every night to claim a 1/10th share of the flour.

Jill too returns, whispering: “Are these long legs of mine
No more than chalk lines to be wiped from the blackboard?”
I’m on a roll here. You will take the poetry I give you and love it.

2 Comments:

Blogger suttonhoo said...

I do. I will. you are god and the one for me.

(I hope Sara doesn't mind.)

;)

(but honestly -- this is great stuff.)

6:28 pm  
Blogger Mikkel said...

You are too sweet!

7:13 pm  

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