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