There's a field of white windmills
Up there now on Top Moor Top
Whirring spinning slender sails
That just never ever seem to stop.
I suppose there is a certain beauty
As you look about and around
But I just can't adjust to
Their constant field of sound.
It's seems there to remind us
There always is a cost
That in the cause of progress
Old values can be lost.
I have lost my type of beauty
In this a favoured place
No matter how they turn and spin
With their statuesque grace.
A sacrifice of beauty
In the cause of Mother Earth,
Or is it just a gesture
For the profit that its worth?
Still over in the Amazon
Forest destroyed without real need
Replaced by fields of Soya bean
To make cheap animal feed.
This world is so sadly changing
And in truth my friend
I am glad to be not at life's start
But rather more near its final end.
I stand there amongst those windmills
And the beauty that I find
Will be of unspoilt hills and moors
Stored safely there in my mind.