Day after day the clear well water flow,
Down through a pipe to old rusted tin trough.
That farms water pump cycles on and off,
As the windmill turns and prairie breeze blow.
Pumping cold water from steel shaft below,
That’s drilled two hundred feet through sand and rock,
Bringing precious water for farm and stock.
The windmill blades keep turning round and round,
Driving old gears whose iron teeth have been ground,
Rusted old bearings that sing round the clock.
©2020 cj holm