A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


The nature of a wheel - to turn,
And only in turning its purpose reveal,
All who precede are followed,
And all who follow, lead.
No point to discern upon its rim
Other than our fancy find,
And then we must observe the same,
But opposite in kind,
All connected,
As heaven descends to earth
The eyes of earth are lifted up,
All in motion,
Dancing round an invisible centre of stillness,
Nothing greater than balance will allow.
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