Cycles

Everything in cycles,
I stand here were I was before,Fickle fiddles, Icicle claws,
Another one debriding me,
The finest soldier stands at ease,
When the earth turns on its head,
Waiting, yearning for the summer,
To find its solemn end,
We find ourselves at the end anew,
Wiser, kinder,
Simpler, finer,
Yet coarse, abrasive,
A force invasive,
Sits upon our minds in time,
When will the eggshells,
In our kindred land,
Break upon the shores untrodden?
When will our childhood end?