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January 1979 · Vol. 8 No. 1 · p. 26 

The Circle

H. Reimer

He crawled
Slowly
Gurgling with happiness
Along his short Monday path of dirt
Packed smooth by many others
Before.

He walked purposefully
Following a Wednesday road
Broad, rutted, and stoney
Longing . . .
Many others close by
Within calling distance
But they . . .
Too busy
Slipping
Trying to get free . . .
Free from ruts self-made.

Past growing shadows
He laboured on
Almost alone now
Stooped with life
Along his weary Friday path.
Almost alone now . . .
He had passed many others
Content in well-worn ruts
Ruts having become familiar . . .
    accepted . . .
    unnoticed.

He stopped beside the road
Worn out
Rocking back and forth
He looked back
Waiting . . .
Eyes followed progress . . .
He saw others
    Crawling
      Walking
        Labouring
          Stopped.
And he smiled
Watching the sun set on the Sabbath.

H. Reimer

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