When I was little, and the days were dark,
We used to go in swaddled, parent groups down to the park,
Tread through the rind of frost on the grass,
To the fair, and Carousel, at last.
Among dead leaves, some red, some gold some yellow and green.
There was the smell of chestnuts, and the sound of a brass band,
Heard but not seen.
And sometimes there would be lights, bright through the mist,
And painted ivory horses, with gleaming grins,
With chiselled cavalrymen,
Who wore rusty iron boots and metal chins.
Under a great canopy of Red and Gold,
There were pictures chiselled in the sides;.
You could see Hamlet, cold on Danish flagstones,
Or Othello, holding the Strawberry handkerchief,
Or Heathcliff walking on the purple moor,
Even Arthur and his sword;
Too young to understand the meaning, you climbed off, dizzy.
And wandered back to friends and family.
These things now hold nothing for me,
My happiness comes from other sources;
The friends, family and laughter remain, but all the lights went out.