Carousel’s Song Played

Old Carousel spun,

the lights did flicker.

Timeless, cherished fun.

The Children bickered,

“Who’s next?” “My turn!”

The lamps burned Golden,

the Horses? They neighed.

Unicorn chosen.

The Zebra? Betrayed.

The Mother’s nerves frayed.

Lilting Piper’s tune,

Carousel’s song played.

Like Rats, the Wild Youth,

marched Feverish. Dazed.

Mother’s headache bloomed.

Sparkling Dervish died,

and ground to a halt.

Each. All. Children cried.

Soothing Babes, She called.

Then Father arrived.

“Already over?”

The Father did ask.

Mother’s mild anger,

She could barely mask.

“Home?” He said to Her.

He did not survive.

© All rights reserved, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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