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

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