Handsaw

Sometimes I think I cannot be quite well
Given the way I act and what I do.
I spin around in circles yelling "woo!"
And race around my cage going pell-mell.
But is this madness? I can never tell.
After all, there is a point of view
Which says this all comes just from missing you,
Like Pavlov's dogs salivation for the bell.
Yet if it's that, how shall I find a cure?
For you are leaving, and that will not change.
Perhaps there's a solution I've not found;
For though you're leaving shortly, to be sure,
I think that it would be utterly strange
If with some time my mind was not rewound.