On Monday May 12, 2008 at 12:30, the members of the "Valley West DUP" held this year's Ending Social. There were a lot of the ladies that could not attend and they missed a very nice luncheon and meeting. The ladies always bring something very special and we do not have a lot of duplicates, this year the only thing that I noticed was that there were not very many deserts. I considered taking some bread pudding, but then decided against it and took some spring rolls instead. Ralynn, who is the captain, read a poem that she had rewritten and then presented each lady with an artificial rose bud and a windmill wheel which she used as a center piece for the table. I will attempt to add the poem here:
ROUND, LIKE A CIRCLE IN A SPIRAL
Round, like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning wheel.
Like a snowball down a mountain or a carnival balloon,
Like a carousel that's turning, running rings around the moon.
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of it's face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently into space.
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.
Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of it's own,
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shown.
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream,
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream.
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of it's face
And the world is like an apple whirling slightly into space.
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.
Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly? Was it something that you said?
Lovers walking along the shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and a fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces but to whom do they belong?
When you knew it was over you were suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning the the color of her hair.
The circle in a spiral, a wheel in a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind.
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