Ideas that come and go,
Thinking never stops,
They drive me to and fro,
Like whirling dervish tops,
The driver with the whip,
Keeps lashing me, a slave,
To keep me spinning, not to tip,
From toppling over stave,
In time, the master, or the slave, will tire,
The top it wobbles as it turns,
Has lost its drive and fire,
For peace and quiet yearns,
This, the story of the dreidl,
Whipping it, will turn,
Round and round, lieb leidle,
Then is ready, for the urn
Blessings and Love ~~ Micke
thanks Jasmin you put it so well
Sincerely
Tuchy
Georg