The wheel of time turns on as fairground ride;
It’s here and then it’s just too far away.
We hurry and we bungle in our stride
And feel that we control it day by day. 4
We beat our breast and holler with much joy
When something clicks and we have won the prize,
We’re lifted up, are juggled as a toy
To be a god’s intention in disguise. 8
But downwards turns the wheel and we feel sick
With not a cure in sight that gives us hope.
We’re given morphine but there is no kick
And slowly die as we are filled with dope. 12
And then the grave or flame may be the cure,
But all is worth it if you can endure.
© Joe Lake
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