Cycle

The Cycle

Turning round the year’s great wheel,
Spring unfurls its tender green,
Summer sings in golden heat,
Autumn sighs, a copper sheen,
Winter draws a quiet veil,
And the cycle starts again.

On two wheels I trace the lane,
Petrol scent replaced by fresh‑cut hay,
The lorry’s rumble fades away,
My tyres whisper on the dampened tarmac,
Each pedal stroke a quiet plea,
To feel the rhythm, to be free.

Life repeats in quiet loops,
Birth, the first bright gasp of air,
Learning, loving, loss, repair,
Then back to earth, a patient return,
The endless circle, ever turning,
In every breath, the world’s reborn.