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Poem

Imagine, if you can, a heavy iron wheel,
A wheel that turns slowly,
Well oiled and never still.

Every new day that dawns,
A new baby somewhere is born,
And added to the wheel,
That keeps turning, never still.

The new baby is in this circle,
Starting in life.
As time passes, she may become a mother,
Or be a husband's loving wife.

Though the wheel moves slowly,
To us all, it seems to fly,
Soon this young person sees her youth,
Waving her goodbye.

As we turn the next page,
To continue her journey on the wheel,
It's incredible how quickly we age,
As the wheel keeps slowly turning still.

Age tells us we are old,
We are no longer new.
If we were aware of that, years ago,
We would not believe it's true.

Age conjures up a feeling,
Of illness and decay
Gnarly and wizened,
Realising we have had our day.

The wheel of life keeps turning,
It will never cease.
It starts at our beginning,
And turns, till we decease.

When old people leave this earth,
To go to a better place,
More new babies are born,
To join the Human Race.

This dear newborn baby,
Is added to the wheel.
A wheel that turns slowly
Well oiled and never still.







I wrote this a year ago.

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