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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
All Entries 1997 - 2002
All Entries 2002
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Published by Susan on 08/09/2003 (2861 reads)
Since I am sick of Wheels...

Since I am sick of Wheels
       That jar my day,
Unto the hush that heals
       I steal away.
Unto the core of Peace
       Nature reveals,
I go to win release
       From Wheels.

Let me beneath the moon
       Take desert trail;
Or on some lost lagoon
       Serenely sail;
Win to some peak the grey
       Storm cloud conceals . . .
Life, let me get away
       From Wheels!

Why was I born so late?
       A skin-clad man
I should have shared the fate
       Of mountain clan;
My quiet flock beside,
       When silence steals,
Unshocked in eventide
       By Wheels.

The Wheel is King today,
       And speed's a god;
Yet when I see the way
       My feet have trod,
Like pilgrims who to shrine
       Of Beauty kneels,
I pray: O Peace divine
       Damn Wheels!

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