The Windmill

Standing sentinel over verdant pasture 

A throwback to a bygone age

Creaking sails seized for eons now

No longer bending beneath meadow winds

Framed against an opaque sun and cobbled clouds

You watch with pride over the wildflowers

A silent herdsman to the cattle and sheep

Children run about your girth merrily

Unaware of your past life, or future musings

With only a brace of larch to confide in

Those who have grown under your stewardship 

Whom else will listen to your grandeur

Tales of ages past, memories of fertile lands

I look upon you with a fondness unparalleled 

You watched this man caper as a child 

And will watch over his bones

When he lies under the meadows you protect

My oldest of old friends

The windmill


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s