Leave me the joys of the wheel to have, Holding the colored lights and watered winds In mind, the touch of some caring Friend, and the dappling air. A bowl of well-done rice and meat; Hearing another girl speak sweetly, Or a fellow sing with gusto to the boys, And other of the wheels' perplexing joys; A sort of evening peace, From the turning sky; just these, Knowing they are something I may have earned; And we may leave the wheel alone To turn, and turn.
Given, it is a dangerous frame of mind, Making the ordinary into ordinary rhymes; I have seen it tried, and done, before By innocents ignorant of a coming war, Who never dreamed how hot the world could burn And in a sleepy richness, slowly turned Until they were caught by bottomless surprise To see the wheel betray them in such wise. But such a sleep, and such a burning, Is in the moment and inertia of the turning. Early or late, a burn's a burn Easier to let the wheel alone, To turn, and turn.