The Mill Of Life.
With some wheels out of gear;
Dust from the old mill makes us blind,
Its roaring dulls the ear.
The ancient Adam in us wakes,
From cranium to the feet,
When as his toll the miller takes
The finest of our wheat.
And when death strikes the balance sheet
And blots us from the list,
There's little left but chaff and cheat,
As our part of the grist.
__J. M. Cavaness.
J. M. Cavaness
(Chanute: Tribune Pub. Co. 1913)