A Fresh New Look

The windmill is terribly quiet,
I miss the squeal and squeak,
I know it's telling me something,
My how I wish it could speak.

Whenever it stands that still,
Not the slightest little fuss,
You can bet your last dollar,
It's going to storm on us.

Whenever the fan turns a little,
And the tail in the wind does play,
It squeaks and squeals with laughter,
We'll have a beautiful day.

It's really a wise old windmill,
With its worn and rusty coat,
I'll bet it's pumped enough water
To make the Queen Mary float.

It put lots of beef on our cattle,
She's worked in the sun and the rain,
Up till the last few years
Never once did I hear it complain.

Now the mill is getting older,
I believe almost an antique.
Its voice turned into a moan
Instead of the cute little squeak.

I know the day is soon coming,
The old mill will have to come down.
It won't be the same place any more,
After the old mill ain't around.

I've worked hard, too, old mill,
My face has been beat by the weather.
It wouldn't suprise me much,
We might just go out together.

-My Great Grandpa, Charles F. Barrett