The Ferris wheel turns against a sparkly sky,
as a Carny-man barks, “Two bits for a try!”
the Calliope plays its cycle of songs,
and helium balloons keep trying to fly.
With clouds of cotton candy on papery sticks,
in blues and in pinks, spun from a sugary mix
the kettle corn pops and the ice cream, it drips,
and the big-footed clown keeps peddling his tricks.
And then, in the center of this magical town,
the Carousel Golden is there to be found,
with its mirrors and critters and glittering lights,
here a whirling parade goes ‘round.
The Carousel Golden is a ride through the night,
a flurry of glees in blurry delight,
a roundabout journey to a place far beyond,
as if a mystical ride about to take flight.
Upon mighty steeds of silver and grey,
on dragons ferocious, somehow looking at play,
the bears and the lions, the unicorns pure,
all chasing each other, ne’er going astray.
Round and round and round they spin,
this ongoing race, this fantastical fling,
always returning where first they began,
having taken their turn at grasping the ring.
Carousel Golden upon which we all ride,
always pursuing, always lengthening our stride,
when will the horses leap free from their poles,
and ride on their dreams to worlds, far and wide.
Yes, when will the horses leap free from their poles,
and ride on the dreams their God does provide.
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