a wheel is not a circle

the door closes no matter what we say
the house is shut for longer than a year
whatever's done has its own proper care
the process is the answer and the way
each of us actors is our own small play
the explanation's not one we call fair
but what we know will soon appear
to be the truth and that will be its day
all things happen in due and proper season
we cannot rush the process from desire
of satisfying our most hidden dreams
each of us commits some private treason
we cast our young ambitions in the fire
and then forget them all or so it seems