Steel gates creak
As cold winds speak
And sweep through the turnstiles
Past the sign, “For Sale”
Next to the carousel
Where the worn horses lie in piles
But paints crust
And gears rust,
Bringing the price down.
The blue Northern swipes
Through the calliope pipes,
Making a humming sound.
But it is out of breath
And out of tune;
Still the merry-go-round
Begins to turn,
While its steeds still yearn
With hooves pawing the ground
To gallop away
To fields, Hooray!
Neighing the only sound.
They do not feel cold
nor their getting old
As their wooden hearts pound
Only for children to ride
With legs astride
So merry, go round,
The wind's winding down
Go round, merry, go round!
This poem's fast pace, rhyme and rhythm has all the attributes of a fun-filled ride on a merry-go-round. Your images paint a vivid picture of the worn out horses at the beginning of the poem. This gives way to the carefree neighing and hooraying from the seemingly child's eye view of the second. I've been taken on a windswept ride down memory lane - and I loved every second! S :)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i don't know, I see this more as a yearning for childhood that's somehow still missed....and see more of a desparation to hold on to it.... quite eery in fact in a beautiful way like a resurrecting something that's gone....