Towering above the mesa
The row of white needles
Puncture the blue with
Rotating scythes that
Capture the power of
The wind. Lined for miles
Across the prairie they
Are seen for great distances
And yet stretch over
Such an area that
They can't all be seen at once.
The wind blows,
The blades turn,
Slowly spinning the
Turbine that generates
Electricity to flow
Into the grid. It is
A much better way to
Invest the taxpayers
Dollars than ethanol.
1 comment:
Dude your poem hits it right on the head love the word choice maybe just a tade more creative meter ryme thing
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