I am dust on wheel, with greatest zeal
In Potter's hand and the turning wheel,
He's Giving me a shape with feathered cap,
Tired I am; where are my slumbers lap?
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How long the wheel will be wheeling, circling, killing my dream. My dreams kill me
Wheel and fortune move in cycle. Life trembles in between hope, joy and grief. Wonderfully penned poem shared on. Nicely penned.