Cycles

The day recycled,
in the bid to keep the cycle,
a circle - brand new.
Where old things would become news,
Good news,
at least for the chosen few,
so when it ended,
yesterday could commence again.
Would it ever tire?
The endless cycle of same.
Could it be the end?
The slightest form of change.
Those mornings that came veiled,
or the days when the sun shed few tears.
The day recycled,
so Tuesdays became few
Oh! How much time had flew!

©Ub M- 041108