The Windmill turned into the wind
Hoping that it's sails would spin
Once more, reaching high up to the sky
To touch the stars that spin on by.
The grass below its heavy head
Looked on, observing, winter dead;
Their partnership of grass to flour
Forgotten, at this midnight hour.
The Milky Way, it's ancient light
Turned again through darkest night;
Galactic dust noticed not
This piece of landscape, now forgot.
Poem by Nigel MacGeorge written to this image.
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