Roundabout

The children on the roundabout
wave at their watching parents, who
paid for the ride and who no doubt
a few short years ago – so few –

waved at their watching parents too.
They watch their watches now, although
a few shorts years ago – too few –
time didn’t mean it’s time to go

and watches were for adults, though
desired each day as evidence
the time had come for them to go
into the adult world, immense

and seemingly offering evidence
of what then looked like freedom in
a world so magically immense
they wished the years could somehow spin

them out of the whirl their kids are in,
the round and round we go about,
into that go-to land – wherein
if they’re now free at last, they doubt . . .

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Tom Vaughan would like to hear them.