The Mule

 

The Mule That Turns the Mill

By Jamie Spaulding, 1/22/2021

The mule that turns the mill seems content to do his task.

Then none could ever know for sure, for none have cared to ask.

He has no opinion on weighty matters, that any would care to hear.

They only care their meal is ground, five days a week, month after month, year after year.

 

Some might say he has a good life, as they butter their daily bread.

For there are, oh so many mules, to turn the wheel that keeps them fed.

Consider not the mule, if he could speak, the things that he might say.

It’s enough that he has a little grain and his daily ration of hay.

 

He is blanketed on cold nights and receives his daily grain.

For which he must perform his toil, in Sunshine and in rain.

On weekends he can pasture, and act as many free beasts do.

As long as he stays within the fence and gives no thought to breaking through.

 

At the break of dawn on Monday, he’ll submit to the millers will.

Harnessed to the wheel that feeds the town, with the fruit of the miller’s mill.

When he grows too old to turn the mill, as all beasts are wont to do,

He’ll serve the town once and for all, for then he’ll serve as glue.

 

The mule that turns the mill seems content to do his task.

Then none could ever know for sure, for none have cared to ask.

He has no opinion on weighty matters, that any would care to hear.

They only care their meal is ground, five days a week, month after month, year after year.