The Windmill

[George.Wright]

and the sails of the white spanish windmill turned around
in the silence of the night almost silently, with a swish of a sound
and the sails and the sails tantalised the touching of the ground
like prayer wheels to eternity and it replicated the oneness of being
and the shadows of the sails, would have Dracula fleeing
a primitive cross with the motion of being
and the gorged moon behind added some serenity
the circle replicated the expression of the oneness of the divinity
and the white ballustrade of the stone body, contrasted the blood red sky
the circle and the cross together, not knowing the reason why
crushing and grinding the crops into flour
never ending and going every fleeting hour
and the deep wells of substance, close to the mill
did reflect the placid feeling of the windmill on the hill
going about it's business like a cat sleeping still
and the purrs of the evening gave way to a massive catnap
as the grinding of the perfect windmill, came to a mechanical snap
teeth merged matador like with teeth and none will give in
perfect harmony is merged together with perfect sin
and the mouse crushed bewteen the wheels of equalibrium
of clockwork preciseness did jump the gears
don quoxite like in his blind flailing years
and the white spanish mill was totally silent of fears
and the cross was still and strong, reflected on the shadows of tears
Georges

Copyright: George Wright 2004