Drifting across the high ground
Listening for the sound
As the past plays its part
Damp leaves on the grass
Before the circular iron railings
Observing those failings
That I took into the class
With the fear of doubt
Worried by quarried stone
All that time spent alone
On life’s Magic Roundabout
Thankful for your voice
With those words of mine
Happy for that time
When we really had no choice
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