don`s dileama

a great song the Windmills of your mind
as on the trials of life we spin
heading for dementia, tomorrows enemy
crisis after crisis becomes our battlefield
the harvest now lies ruined
the world so short of food
and adversary that overwhelms
its whirling shadows are the daily grind
the power to defeat us
towering through the mental fog
our charger lost its foothold
to grapple with each day
it dulls our sword and bends each lance
we tilt  is the enemy run of the mill