Round and round the jogger goes,
A goldfish in a bowl.
He's keeping fit, and well he knows
How sloth can take its toll.
He's lithe of limb, fair play, he means
To keep himself like that.
No doubt he eats up all his greens,
And shuns excessive fat.
But what of this poor fellow's mind
As he jogs round and round?
Does he run backwards to unwind,
And is his brain quite sound?
Does his imagination find
Excursions high and low,
Or is his mind at last confined
Inside one sterile O?
And when on leave does he run through
Great tracts of rural ground,
Or is he only able to
Run round and round and round?
©1997 C. R. Hilton