The Windmill In My Mind Poem by Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken

The blades turn, slow at first,
slicing through the quiet,
memories rise like dust in the air,
caught in the endless motion.

A childhood afternoon, golden and warm,
laughter echoing between wooden beams.
Then a voice, sharp as a blade-
gone before I can hold it.

The wind shifts, and so do the thoughts.
Spinning faster,
faster,
until past and present blur.

I reach out,
but the wind takes everything away,
leaving only the hum of turning gears,
the whisper of time moving on.