The archaic windmill
Is idle there now, a
Symbol to remind us
Of years long past
When days were simple,
Everything built to last.
Regressing, I can see my
Grandpa loading his wagon
With sacks of corn preparing
For the trip to the windmill
A few miles from home
He always let me tag along.
I treasure those times
Grandpa and I shared
Riding in his old wagon
To the village windmill,
It Still gives me a thrill.
I can hear grandpa's voice now
Telling me stories of the old
In my minds eye I can see
The windmills's oblique sails
Proudly twirling up so high
As if reaching for the sky.
I could hear the sounds of
Corn grinding as grandpa
and I watched nearby
Moments I'll treasure
And recall many times
With tears in my eyes.
