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


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.