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A poem I wrote in 1996 about one visual, but disappearing aspect of the Great Plains – the farm windmills.
Timepiece of the Heartland
Time is an abstract wonder
Both cyclical and seasonal
But in our nation’s heartland
It’s measured by the windmill
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Spinning freely in the breeze
Upon a tinsel frame, so thin
A windmill comes full circle
Only to begin all over again
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Like a rusty chronometer
Quantifying space and time
The windmill rotates constantly
In a wind-driven, ageless chime
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The courthouse has its clock tower
The church steeple its rhythmic bells
But heartland fields and furrows
Gauge time by whirling windmills
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As years march ever onward
And symbols fade from view
History comes full circle
For to a windmill, nothing’s new.
-
Rick Brown - 3/9/96
