By David Roth
© 16 September, 2004
I stood as a child with eyes open wide,
And trembled in wonder at my Mother’s side,
The whoosh of those mighty sails, tested and tried,
Each sweep so amazing, I stared til I cried.
A towering windmill, so to me it seemed,
With four mighty sail arms, majestic and clean,
With power beyond a child’s wildest dreams,
Turned into the wind, mighty giant, supreme!
I returned as a young man to my favorite place,
Still awed by the wind driven sails, and their pace,
My eyes closed, the whoosh seems to echo from space,
As on through the circuit each turret would race.
I stood by my bike as the mighty sails spun,
And followed the blade as it ripped through the sun,
I’d wait for the grinding to finally be done,
A fresh bag of flour and off I would run.
But now I’m an old man, and still it remains,
Against time’s harsh arrows of sun, wind, and rains,
A piece of my childhood’s passing refrains,
The whoosh of the sails and the dreams they contain.
With memories of childhood I enter the mill,
To see if the great stones arefunctioning, still,
The old man remembering the boy on the hill,
Who remembered the whoosh and cherished the thrill.
