By: PaysConteur~

Planted on a hill
a rugged windmill twirls,
with the swirling wind.
Creaking softly through the silence,
structured by uncertain strength;
time hesitates for a moment
before breathing in
the calm of each whirl.
Each twirl reaching out for the sky,
but still tethered to the earth;
never nearer to heaven
than in it’s whirl,
but closer to paradise
because of the dreams
it spins for the heart.