An old windmill stands on a hill;
it once stood proud
as the wind swept round its sails.
Now deserted,
tattered and torn
a shell of its former self,
a relic of a bygone day.
A home now
where wild animals play
and lovers shelter
from a midnight storm.
Forlorn it looks down
from the hill,
ragged with a broken sail
that old windmill.

12 April 2008

David Harris

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-old-windmill/