The In between

 In the circle

In the circle of my life I'm in the middle

Can't decide which way to go

I play the fiddle

There are more fish in the sea

Than out

It's getting hard to see

I'm getting stout

Without a doubt

The fog is rising within me

Like a water spout

The mist is all glistening

tip toeing about

An Saint Paul has written his epistles about it

The way the fat controller

Waves his flag

It's just these pan pipes keep blowing

In the leaves

And the music of the winter's loom

Gives some ease

To the houses with the rooms

Where summer hangs on the eaves

And Spring is an attitude

Of the cobwebs the spiders weave

And Autumn has forgotten its manners

And I've left my spanners

In works I can't retrieve