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Windmill:
The windmill busily turns.
As it sits amongst the hills.
The blue sky emphasising the white wooden sails.
The windmill drives the water which onwardly churns.
As the mill spins, the water droplets and foam are thrown to the wind;
Inside wild and domesticated grasses are pounded by a spining wheel.
Ground to a dust called flour; from which we'll make our daily meal.
Prettily sits the windmill painted white and bright: awaiting another windy day; when wind and water,
are harnessed together so our daily hunger needs heal.
By Anita Griffiths
How Is Flour Made Now?
We take it for granted. Not so long ago it required muscle and millstone grinding grist. Now, we buy it with no thought granted to how it got there. Good reminder. - Lady A -
Windmill:
Thanks allets, yes we have it so much easier in the present, the daily grind now being work and austerity measures, makes the bread hard to come by again. Thanks for reading and leaving a comment, much appreciated.
http://www.postpoems.org/authours/a.griffiths57