The Windmills

My chipped, yellow brush stroked the blank canvas.
A fluorescent, vivid yellow was thrown onto the paper.
the painting was still.
Yet they just keep spinning.
the sun goes down
all I saw was sillohuets
shadowed poles with endless spinning

The sun goes down,
the lights flicker on; one by one
bright glares of white
blend together.

the lights come on
the windmills tower on the mountain tops
high above my eyes

the windmills tower on the mountain tops
my chipped, yellow brush stroked the vibrant canvas
the painting was still
yet they just keep spinning.

By: Phoebe