I like the way things circle round
and change, and change again
back to the same thing as before.
Everything seems to move at its own pace
through a cycle, just as it did before
So the sun will rise again
breathe its old life into the waking earth.
Blossom will fruit, and we,
we will lie in long grass
watching clouds and aeroplanes,
dreaming this is the only life,
the only time,
and all other seasons only dreams
or tales, told long ago, forgotten now,
Till autumn comes, and winter days,
so short, but long, interminably long
Then we'll sit drowsing by the fire
Warming red hands on mugs of tea
And dreaming this is all there is
And summer days a dream, or long ago.