Playland in Winter

Steel gates creak
As cold winds speak
And sweep through the turnstiles
Past the sign, “For Sale”
Next to the carousel
Where the worn horses lie in piles
But paint crusts
And gears rust,
Bringing the price down.
The blue Northern swipes
Through the calliope pipes,
Making a humming sound.
But it is out of breath
And out of tune;
Still the merry-go-round
Begins to turn,
While its steeds still yearn
With hooves pawing the ground
To gallop away
To fields, Hooray!
Neighing the only sound.
They do not feel cold
Nor their getting old
As their wooden hearts pound
Only for children to ride
With legs astride
So merry, go round,
The wind’s winding down
Go round, merry, go round!