This morning brought me winter's chill,
And with it, thoughts of Circleville
Where icy winds turn creaking mills
And snowfall blanks the homes and hills.
But folks keep warm in Circleville
With fires of labor, plow and till,
Their music made, their home-cooked meals,
And cast-iron stoves to stay heat bills.
I let my memory drink its fill
Of time I spent in Circleville:
Old faces I remember well;
Old voices ringing like a bell.
Nestled in the little thrills
like calls of distant whippoorwills,
The tales of time that time will tell
Spin 'round and 'round this spinster's wheel
But life is passing faster still,
And all the moments overspill
Like pieces dropped in Circleville
That rest there now and always will.
© 2009 Jubal Faircloth