Windmills without wings - a sign?

Windmills without wings – a sign?

Once bustling, thriving and honoured
with bread daily in the house
They whirred; grinding the harvest,
wheeling and creaking.
Stone against stone, seed against seed,
keen for hunger to be satisfied.
Sails whistled and whipped, slapping in the gusts
turning breath into power.


Now, soaring denied and clipped,
their wings no longer fly.
Instead, timid stumps, denuded,
squat low on the land,
Hunkering down, unfit for purpose, crushed.
‘No bread, no bread!’ they cry.
The storehouses empty and famine abroad.
Oh, fix your sails anew, catch the wind and
turn, turn, turn…