signals intrusion. The windmill sighs.
Dogged he enters; he knows what he needs.
“Why?” cries the windmill west swaying to east,
with a croak mournful as a raven’s grief.
Concealed in deep shadows: a determined beast.
The marauder claims his dark relief.
A craven fool, by deed he is made
Of trust, betrayer; of innocence, thief.
The wind shifts again with a weary groan.
Damage is done–a permanent stain.
The windmill is stilled, aloof and alone.