The wheel, it turns and turns and turns,
The music pipes its happy sound;
But I sit gray and empty here,
Upon this cold and windy ground
The carnival is everywhere,
It's in the eyes of passers-by;
The wheel, it turns and turns and turns --
We're born
We grow
We love
We die
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Tagged: Tags Carnival Poems Depression Life Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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