Here she stands, all alone
Beside their old rusted windmill,
And she can't help but wonder,
If it could talk with her,
All the stories it might tell.
Think of all the screaming winds,
All of the personal storms it has seen,
With lightning bolts, blazing by the thousands.
So many wonderful sunny days,
And cool, starlit nights...
To see it being taken down,
Puts a cheerless beat in the heart's pound.
It's funny how much humans,
And old windmills are alike,
Many people look and see only old, rusted weathered exterior,
But she can see beyond this,
She sees its long lived past.
Every windmill has a wondrous story, untold,
She only regrets she cannot hear them all.