The Windmill

The rustic old windmill stands forlorn
down in the meadow full of corn.

Its working days are since long gone
as it stands bearing the scars of yesteryears.

Looking bedraggled and dishevelled, paint peeling,
timber rotting, bolts rusting, it is not a pretty sight
as it fades by day and by night.

Yet, as if guarding it still the golden corn dances in
the wind non-stop; around the mill's frail and feeble frame,
until the farmer gathers in his crop.