Windmill On the Hill
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On the rise of a hill overlooking the bend,
where the old gravel road seems to narrow and blend,
stands the bony old legs made of timber and nail
With regal restraint, neither praise or complaint,
it's remained in it's place like a candle on cake
It begs no attention, but for birds and the rain..
When a farm bit the dust, the windmill was left.
It is squeaking a bit, from some rust, and neglect
as is clings to a time that no longer exists.
Memories spin with each shift in the wind.
The years have abused you...
No longer called useful?
I beg to reply...I think you are beautiful
Strong beams held you strong
Your day's work was done
When the wind caught your breath
and death came with the drought. And
Doubt found a home...
Now the birds sing their poems on the wings of your brow.
Pride came from the hands that came to erect
Hammered a nail with a faith's dedication
Placing each board, with fresh hope and conviction
A wheel, standing regal, a workhorse with fervor
bringing new life, from the depths of a river
The years have abused you...
No longer called useful?
I beg to reply...I think you are graceful
Once so essential
I'd call you beautiful
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4/30/15
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2018
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