Round And Round Poem by L.B. Temuco

Round and round
In an ancient field
The soft whisper of ancient grass
Brushed and parted by the hand
of the one Unbound God
innocence uncoils
and spreads forever
across the flat earth

On a field faraway
In another place
Call it Flanders if you like
It matters not much
As there walks no Merlin
No Jesus here
The lines of battle have
No such circularity
No warm touch of palms
No sound of the minutes falling
Over and over
Down and down
And round and round again
Running over each other
No,
in this great trench of a field
The flat hand of another God
Presses all life from
The lungs of men
Who expected more
Than this unfurling
Than this merciless dispatch
Of accumulated deeds
Than this vanishing
As they roll over
And over
And over again
Unknowing
In the great round
Of parting acquaintance
And life’s one last ambition