Poem: Carrousel

Carrousel

She was always too busy claiming tasks to be done
Forever en route, endless errands to run
The juggler of missions, a servant of time
Life can be lost on this narrowing line

Excuses came plenty in her martyr’s brigade
The slave to a struggle who’s succumbed to what’s laid
Until eyes of impression are soon molded as well
The tree and its apples on the same carrousel

Too late to notice that you’re benumbed and immune
Cat’s in the cradle and the man in the moon
The children become what the mother has crafted
An appendage of labors has been too firmly grafted

Try to break in to break up the routine
But freedom of leisure only viewed as obscene
Imagination can’t flourish where every minute’s imposed
Where’s the freedom to dream or just wiggle one’s toes

Cat’s in the cradle and the man in the moon
Here’s to who’d craft of a less-perfect hewn

Copyright SGW 2013




Footnote:  Obvious reference to Harry Chapin’s “Cats in the Cradle.”