I see the grain coming
Looking down over the fields
Time to grease down my bearings
And to oil up my wheels
Configure all of my blades
Getting ready to now turn
A northeasternly is blowing
And my passion now burns
Aloft in my fine tower
Wherever winds blow
Coming face to face
As a soldier to his foe
Crushing the barley
The corn and the rye
Till dusk comes calling
No winds in the sky
When the flour is bagged
Full waters in the tank
To return again tomorrow
Impaling winds then to thank
[ On my grandfather's homeplace he had a windmill built in 1919 on the hill with a standing mill attached along with a watertower made of wood shingles to store the families water, over the years the only poem I've ever seen written about these old wind mills is by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow-The Windmill ]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Windmills are a favorite of mine. I appreciate your poem, esp. the personification of it.