wooden eyes

as child she sought the carousel
saw promise in the wooden eyes
which opened on her, bid her
climb to magic places hence to
ride 

on fairy flights to magic days,
she eager went in sunlit rays
and spinning round her was the
day, a magic too, in its own way,

up up down the coloured herd
with tinkles bows and manes of
gold, oh, how that child was
taught to fly, with safety, up in
rainbows high whilst,

all life's music carried on, and
down below the moving throng
and all was well secure and free
for all of that was true you see,
till

one day she returned to earth
could find no sign of home nor
birth, could find no love or magic
land, found wrinkles on her
grown up hand and realised,

that day did she, that carousels
are never free, they are but
dreams in real days where sweet
songs sung by lies, are played so,

lessened now by time and truth
she could not fit, so old, in youth,
and cried a little more each day
and died a little more each day
till

now as dead as dead can be, she
rides her carousel unfree, no
heaven neither hell hence found,
just lies that spin on round and
round,

M 15/8/23