The Merry Go Round
I rode that memory once before,
Galloping down child lane once more,
Fleeting past some faces I have known,
Some buried treasures I have out grown.
Dad waving in his tweed suit and hat,
On days out with me he would wear that,
Tears fill my eyes as I wave him back,
fleeting carriages lost on time track.
Every memory rides a gold horse,
Some gilded rich and some gilded sparse,
moments spent in continuing chase,
Some bright as day, some cloudy haze.
Carousel picture prompt
Eve Roper contest
01/April/2020
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