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.