October 8, 2012

The Windmill

Pure, white propellers 
Against the canvas of the sky and field.
You are a beacon of strength
Through every season, your days remain the same.
Turning, and turning, and turning
During wind, and storm, and rain.

But, I am nothing but a fickle leaf
Stuck to my home, my apple tree. 
Green, red, gold, and brown,
I never stay the same -
Blown from here to there by any whim or care
And, reflect the changing seasons like a mirror.
Shaking, and soaring, and falling,
For I am nothing but a fickle leaf.

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