It goes around, and round around
In never ending circles,
Stirring up a little breeze
To make its presence known.
Never asking questions...
Designed alone for comfort...
Offering relief to all
Who step into its zone.
A thing of giving;
Never wanting,
Never a demand...
Arms outstretched
As far as they can go...
Harvesting the air and
Giving forth its gentle blessings.
Life is like a ceiling fan?
If it were only so.
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