We all walk in circles to our
destination:  nothing here
is straight lines, a marked route,
a known way, signposted
course - all is circuitous
and by tortuous paths or
narrow, broad and on a slant
we progress, but at some time
or other we retrace our steps,
we go round and about and
around we go ending back
where we started, changed.
Life is an endless circle
spiralling in or spiralling out -
we spin, giddy, to our end
place, with all the sights we
have seen, the deeds we have
done.  We are dumb, like children
walking the maze, drawing in
ever closer to our soul's age -
getting ready to exit the stage
with full attainment, at stretch.

One Year Round The Sun
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