Go (Mid-May).

A song and a poem. That’s really all.

 

 

 

Watch those horses

fathers tell their daughters

spruced in Sunday dresses;

so calm and clean,

their necks bending in red bridles

as they go and go

(and you along with them).

 

Watch those horses

fathers tell their daughters

with their pink-ribboned hair;

sweet and smooth as a newborn.

It smells of popcorn and sweat (it’s Mid-May),

and they go and go and go –

the fair is in town.

 

Watch those horses –

I watch those horses;

Once a year, every year.

Sometimes when it’s spring,

I’ve almost forgotten about them,

but as April turns into May

the smell of popcorn fills the air and

 

I hear wooden hooves (and your voice).

 

Watch those horses –

I watch those horses

as they come and go

(and you along with them):

sweet and smooth as a newborn.

The fair is back in town

(and it doesn’t let me go –

 

go, go).

 

 

Horses, as they go.

Horses, as they go.

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