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Rated: E · Other · Other · #1953071
A poem about a windmill.




High upon the cliff tops

Wheel the wind chargers

Sweeping the stars from

Heavens gentle lip.

Proudly standing

the chargers holding

A shining silvery shield of

Blades, whirling calling lowly

across the sea.

And I so tiny my

Kite twisting gaily

twirls lost to me and

I shed a tear I did for

The fury of the wind chargers

High atop the lonely cliff tops.



                               
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