Along the Ware River,   a tomb of stunned              silence enclosed by          great granite blocks, its weave shop          empty, clattering                     long done,  spindle    rooms quiet as cotton, with only the earth rotating below, armies of mill     hands, ghosts upon generations            of ghosts, gone! Weavers         gone! Spinners, gone! Slubberhands, gone! An old         mill on a tired river, but                  the Thorndike Mill keeps              the shuttles flying on the looms       of memory. After passing by the century-old, abandoned mill, Palmer, Mass. June 2004

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