By Jean Bush
Upon the haunted, magic air
A sound is heard in the dark somewhere;
A creak of wood, as gears are churned,
A carousel begins to turn.
A siren song that calls a child
To find these horses running wild,
Whose painted mouths say: Join our game!
He leaps the one he wants to tame.
The laughing boy holds tight the pole
And hugs the wooden horse of old.
Watching the dark town flashing by
He takes the forbidden midnight ride.
The painted eyes begin to gleam
And shadows flicker close like dreams.
Front hooves rise in a sudden rear
As the boy now clings to flesh and fear.
He turns and looks for one last time
As the leave the carousel behind.
The maddened horse in nightmare flight
Rides the boy into the night.
They leap the earth in an endless rush
And hopes of childhood turn to dust.
The dark night turns to seek the dawn
But against the stars the boy is gone.
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