I see a solitary windmill on the horizon.
I can't see its stem, but its petals are clear enough.
Moving apace.
Chased by winds unseen.

And as I watch, they seem to slow,
as if the wind has waned.
And I expect I told you so's will rejoin the fray,
damning the whole enterprise.

But I see the intent as worthy of patience,
worth my invested expectation.
I see the petals power on
and they slowly turn again.

turn, turn
     turn, turn
          pure, power-ballad, turn