I saw old Time amongst the ripening corn.
He stood with scythe and hour-glass, touched with light.
So vigilant was he,
He waited there to see
The green and swelling grain turn gold and bright.
He must have seen the movement in the crop -
The sudden fall and swirling to the ground
Of stalks of growing corn
That in the light of dawn
Showed clearly where a circle could be found.
Old Time, he is a circle-maker too.
The seasons run from spring unto the spring,
And what has gone before
Will yet be seen once more.
In circles there's no end to anything.