Poetry Challenge 2009: Day 11 / Prompt - an object

The Old Windmill

In the distance
a sentinel slumps
weary and forlorn
a solitary watcher
with nothing
left to see

Once,
its vanes reached
outward, always seeking
the wind’s embrace
swiveling and swooping
like a hawk
hunting thermals
on which to soar

Once,
its body sang
with a joyous heartbeat
pumping silver liquid
harvesting and gifting
spilling out precious
life essence
across the land

Once,
its eye beheld
endless horizons
rolling verdure
speckled by cattle
hides gleaming
like midnight sun

Once,
it watched over
countless children
future’s inhabitants
playing at its feet
in shimmering water

Now,
its body bleeds rust
its melancholy vanes
hum intermittent notes
its dead eyes watch
wistfully over spiky-brown
fields desolate
deserted

no offspring to keep
no purpose to fulfill
proud sentry no longer
a dusty relic
just the old windmill
listing in the wind