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The wooden top

Painted red

Nestled in hand

Rearing to go.


On winding the rope in tight coil

Around the body

The top began to wobble

Eager for the jump.


Throw the rope forward

And spin out the top

Keep the rope in hand a moment

Before you let go.


Think of the throw

And ponder on the fall

Deviate from the planned game

And listen to the voice of enticement

Murmuring in your ears.


Desires spin the thread

Over and over

String uncoils from the wound up body

The top moves obsessively forward

Pulled by unknown impulses

Revolving faster and faster

Crossing the border of no return.


Whirling round and round

Twirling at the end of the string

The top totters to a stop

Rolling to the side

Spent at last

Devoid of the rope.