by mountain cattleman and poet S.J. (Jack) Treasure, Dargo, Victorian High Country
Another year has moved around to join the passing scene
To fill the page of history's book, the time span in between.
To fade into a memory of patterns now long gone.
From childhood to the present day, the endless chain moves on.
And so, in circles come the days, in circles pass the years.
While circles of the universe extend in cosmic tiers.
But I, upon celestial earth, like others of my kind
Heed only small rotations: the years I leave behind.
Or do we climb a ladder high, the first rung to the last?
Grasping feeble at the start, then higher up the mast,
Until we view the setting sun, of life's eternal chain,
And pass beyond the evening star, ne'er to return again.
Or, are there circles like the wind, or waters in the streams,
That turn again in time's rebound, to haunt us in our dreams.
And form a cycle of repeat, though blent in mystic veil,
That we cannot piece together, dividing waters as we sail?