The Windmill Of My Existence Poem by Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken

Turning, always turning,
blades catching the invisible,
spinning with the breath of time.

Some days, the wind is gentle,
whispering through wooden arms,
guiding me forward without effort.

Other days, the storm rages,
forcing motion, bending structure,
demanding strength I did not know I had.

Still I stand,
anchored in the earth,
dancing with the unseen force
that shapes my days,
that keeps me moving.