Omnibus

The journeyman’s wheel spins ever round,

Around the twisted whorl of circuit roads,

Until the sun descends to reach the ground.

His travellers ever hear his voice resound,

“Move on!” they drift, with heavy packs unstowed,

The journeyman’s wheel spins ever round.

Fair mothers, from adult solitude unbound,

Talk on, brief respite from that chaotic abode,

Until the sun descends to reach the ground.

You, my father, by life’s cares half-drowned,

Sleep, and nod, and let your thoughts be slowed,

The journeyman’s wheel spins ever round.

The tallyman calls the boarders who are bound,

To add their paper billets to his load,

Until the sun descends to reach the ground.

The babies squall, the siren calls will sound,

Rain-streaked glass clears, the lantern’s firelode,

The journeyman’s wheel spins ever round,

Until the sun descends to reach the ground.