Carousel

A carousel is carolling its organ-grinding tunes.
Striding hens and horses rise and fall.
But where are all the riders? Is the roundabout too tame?
Does no-one hear its merry metal call?

A carousel is carolling its organ-grinding tunes.
I'm too old – but not quite old enough – to ride.
Can I borrow someone's toddler and hop up on a horse
And pretend I take such trifles in my stride?

poem © Celia Warren 2013

(Someone should start a rent-a-tot business - there was a great old-fashioned helter-skelter, too!)