Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,
Saying that now you are not as you were
When you had changed from the one who was all to me,
But as at first, when our day was fair.

Can it be you that I hear?  Let me view you, then,
Standing as when I drew near to the town
Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,
Even to the original air-blue gown!

Or is it only the breeze in its listlessness
Travelling across the wet mead to me here,
You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness,
Heard no more again far or near?

   Thus I; faltering forward,
   Leaves around me falling,
Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward,
   And the woman calling.

Round and round the spiralling wheel
Been here before that's how I feel
Once more around and spiralling forward
Like a stone in time a baby Norward
Maintaining my post like some kind of anchor
Lying low to avoid drawing anger
Ascending in increments of variance
Plying all the paths of each variant
Looping and looping through circular time
Feeling like it's all a pantomime
A stone anchor holding a position
A point in time from which to transition
Seeing the points repeat closer together
Seems like time is on a tether
All loops collapsing on a grand conclusion
A final end to a sinister illusion
This point on the wheel is a nexus
And moving on will be a new plexus
So a stone on the wheel is where I'm held
Until time resolves this tricky meld
Necessarily I'm imbued with a lot of luck and will
And seeing this through will be such a thrill
A stone on the wheel
That's how I feel