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Round, like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel |
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Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel |
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Like a snowball down a mountain or a carnival balloon |
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Like a carousel that’s turning, running rings around the moon |
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Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of it’s face |
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And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space |
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Like the circles that you find |
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in the windmills of your mind |
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Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own |
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Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone |
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Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream |
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Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream |
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Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face |
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And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space |
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Like the circles that you find |
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in the windmills of your mind |
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Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head |
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Why did summer go so quickly? Was it something that you said? |
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Lovers walk along the shore and leave their footprints in the sand |
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Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand? |
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Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song |
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Half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong? |
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When you knew that it was over, you were suddenly aware |
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That the autumn leaves were turning to the colour of her hair |
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A circle in a spiral, a wheel within a wheel |
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Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel |
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like the circles that you find |
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in the windmills of your mind |
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Home
