At times I reflect on the busy of mind,
while I’m out drawing circles, they’re marching in line.
This marching in line seems so orderly, sane
yet it only appeals to the logical brain.
Drawing lines on the paper or lines at the mall
does not nourish a garden or sense the loon’s call.
The stars in the heavens, a baby’s sweet cry
arise not from narrow – now roundness applies.
I raised my son up, he is vibrant and sage,
I expect him to care for me into old age.
The line it will penetrate, stories appear
to cloud up the vision and plug tight the ears.
A circle invites us to join in the dance,
allowing for movement through life’s random chance.
A heart has no edges, free minds liberate;
illusion is folly, leave it up to the Fates.
If you yearn for sweet endings, heed this wise epithet
for embracing the circle builds a life, not regret.