Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own,
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone,
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream,
All the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream.
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple rolling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.