I’d not thought of carousels in a while,
till I started going ’round in circles,
bobbing always down, no hope for the ring
right there at the tip of my outstretched hand

I gave my steed permission to let go,
enjoy the thrall of sweet grass underfoot,
the cool pure water from the brook to trough,
unbridled runs in dappled afternoons

Now at the gate I take one final look,
stretch out on the hay at the end of day
to dream of speed, fruit, loving caresses,
a soft brush trailed down and through tangled mane

The deep gaze into the eyes of twilight,
a large heart heaving after the gallop
slows in time to a steady rhythmic pace
until it ceases, when riders dismount

Across the glen the calliope sings,
lilts to say it had not been a sad song

Chagall 2019

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