The Miller's Keep

Turning stone beneath the wheel
Grinds up mounds of grist to meal
We change the grain and salt for gold
While laughing at the storms that rolled
The spinning wind upon our reel

So many knights of rusty steel
Have charged our sails with clear-eyed zeal
But mirrors chill their gazes cold
Turning stone

Outside our door the pilgrims kneel
To beg lost youth, to strike a deal
Our finest sacks of meal I'm told
Came from the bodies of the old
Who trade for bread the bones they feel
Turning stone