On a horse, galloping
at full speed. A giraffe
to the left; a lion chasing.
Around and around
you go on my carousel.
You do not know me but
so many of your nature
have passed through here
that I know you. It is the
end of the season now.
The leaves are fading,
red and yellow they fall.
The fallen crackle and
crunch as you kick at
and jump on them for
your own amusement.
I will not see any like
you until the white months
have passed. Until then,
this is the last time I will
see you in the warped
mirrors. The last time
you will see my lies
of smoke and fire that
you are so eager to
believe. The last time
that you will walk under my
paper lanterns. But for now,
don’t stop running.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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