~ My Dad's Windmill ~
 
I love to see a windmill
It brings such memory
When I was little with my Dad
Reaching just up to his knee.

He'd grab his rusty crescent

And climb up, oh so high,
To fix those scary blades
Way up in the sky.
 
Those blades, forever creaking,
Those BIG blades..... ever squeaking,
When those BIG, SHARP, blades,
were in a whirl
All was right with our small world.
 
Those BIG, SHARP, angled blades.
 were a source of life to us
Of such refreshing water,
If that old windmill did breakdown,
My Dad he didn't loiter.

He'd jump into his minimoke, this bloke

And tear off through the sand,
"Gotta' fix the windmill" he'd yell,
With a wave of greasy hand.
 
He'd crank and pull and siphon
Until the thing ran free...
Willing the wind to blow a gale,
"Turn you blades, turn,
not just for me!! 
 
Then slowly the wind would come
And to a greater force those strong blades submit,
Bowing to the windy sky ...
 Giving itself so freely,
 Never asking why.
 
And then the stream would flow
Cool and clear and sweet,
And all night it would keep pumping up and down
Filling the great big water tank
Unless it sprang a leak..
 
Now when I see a windmill
Standing there true-blue
 stoic on it's stand,
I think of my Dad's fight for water,
To keep us on the land.
 
Oh windmill of my mind
May the wind of the Spirit blow,
Forever fresh on me, so I will flow
With living water
As a fountain springing up
with life so full and free.
 
Soft Whispers from
Derry's Heart Poems
2003 used with permission
heartwhispers@iinet.net.au

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