United, side by side, stepping forward (and round) forever together. At least, that was the idea.
Upon a time, a thousand carousels marked the landscape. Every town and every village had at least one of which they were proud.
Not all were manned by horses.
But then a dark age settled upon the land.
The horses were slaughtered for their meat. The carousels stopped going round. They were dismantled, and the wood used as fuel for the winter fires.
In some places, a lonely calliope still exists, and occasionally is asked to sing its sad, mournful song.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.