Cries Of The Carousel

magnetic attraction
to drifting chimes
call my young mind
with a tinkly melody

a tug on Mum's arm
as I lead her toward
the brightly painted
and ornate ride

with pleading eyes
I look up from her waist
then turn to watch
the one I named Prancer

her mane splashed pink
a tail to match
she rides alone
amongst a rigid herd

two strong hands
they take my waist
raise me to Prancer's back
my pride of place

rise and descend
of saddled mares
with but a pole
to break my fall

Mum I spot
amongst the faces
waves with each turn
as the world passes by

now I stand as a face
in the crowd
watching two happy faces
and wave in return