Windmills Poem by Marlin Nightingale

Windmills turning, slowly slipping,
Through the air that's round them whipping,
Fills us with a sense of wonder,
Through maybe rain or distant thunder.

Windmills, with a somber pace,
Watching slowly life's long race,
Fleeting years its seen go by,
Ever past its watchful eye.

Windmills, constantly repeating,
Creaking noises, through air speeding,
Tell us of their lasting power,
Through long years and stormy hours.

Windmills, tell us of your past,
Till we understand at last,
What your image represents,
Through the long years of your presence.