David Sheppard

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(The following poem has never been published.)

 Abandoned windmills often
recover my shock of homelessness.

Last night the Ring Nebula appeared
Much the same, a windmill whirl
 - the sight and the silence,
The force that drives us onward.

In the morning wind it became
Clearer as the predawn
Silhouette of a mountain range
Conjured and image:

          A horseman, his steed
          Laboring with the horizon.
 

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© 2008 by David Sheppard. All right reserved.