Carousel

Carousel

Pretty horses all in a row,
Eyes rolling and nostrils steaming
In the foggy London evening.
Worn down mouths chomp at the bit,
Heads straining against the rein
With the rattle and clang of chain.
Night as come and the green is empty,
Gears clanking in the gathered dark
As the horses stand almost silent in the abandoned park.
And here they’ll sleep til morning breaks,
Til, with a sigh, the conductor returns
To wake them with familiar nocturnes.
In unison they stretch and quiver,
To shake off the early morning damp
As at the bit they chew and champ.
In twos and threes they silently wait,
For the heavy steps and resulting snafu
Of children waiting in the queue.