We circle that tree
that mountain
that wilderness
again and again and again.
Always moving
trudging on
thinking we’re getting somewhere —
but finding ourselves back at GO
(if we’re lucky a few pounds heavier).
Never quite sure,
(Are we running
to or from
something?)
but round and round we go.
Then, when we are down
we look up
and catch a sympathetic grin.
What bliss those days
when warm fingers close about ours
and take us home
for Luncheon Time.
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