blog201, poems

The Man From La Mancha

The Man from La Mancha

On a bright and sunny morning

From La Mancha I set sail

With my trusty steed Roginante

In a ship they called the whale

We travelled far across the sea

To a land of the monstrous beast

Three dead arms that’s supposed turn

Facing North or South or East

I hailed a passing stranger

What’s this? That I do see?

A wind farm, is the words he yelped

As he scurried away from me

So this is where the wind comes from

That blows across our sand

There sprouting from the sea bed

And spreading across the land

People move away when they appear

Too late for some I fear

They gobble up the farm land

Then scowl and whine and leer

Are they taking over?

A deception, that they’re great

A futility, we are supposed to love

In reality… we love to hate

Mounted on Roginante

My lance within my hand

I Don Quixote of La Mancha

Will finally!  Make my stand


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