The death of this mill, for those who don’t understand,

Is like losing a loved one, or a very close friend.

Oh, there were times we raised a lot of cane and made a big fuss,

But the pride of this mill runs in the blood of all of us.

It’s not easy watching it slowly slip away,

But one can see it’s getting weaker with each passing day.

Like main organs that are slowly shutting down,

This mill is dying in the shadow of this small town.

No. 6 paper machine, the one-time pride of our mill,

Now lies dormant, dark and still.

There’s No. one , four and five,

The wood yard and rewinders fighting every day, wanting to survive.

Fiber recycling and the bleach plant, too,

Roll finishing and the sheet plant — just to name a few.

The power plant will pull the breaker and the mill will surly die.

There will be no saving it, no matter how hard we try.

All will go quiet, and it will turn pitch black,

It’s all for certain now, there’s no turning back.

But, we will all move on and start a life anew.

But memories made here will stay with me and with you.

The empty mill will remain in the skyline of this town,

And the darkness that will prevail will retain ghost from all around.

God Bless the Franklin paper mill workers and their families, too.

I will be praying not just for me, but will also will be praying for you.

Wesley Dorsey

Gates, N.C.