deus nobis haec otia fecit
We shall only hitch our ride but once
and review it again if the rumors are true;
this seat we straddle, with it's time worn cantle
and the reverberating calliope sound
is a carousel circling round and around
and we each have a seat on this thing.
Call it merry-go-round or carousel
traveling up and down, circling to the left
it is color and noise and light
with each creature affixed to it's brazen poles,
as we settle in each place for the ride.
And running on, our time cleanly marked,
the length of each ride so diff'rent for each
We stay till we're bidden to exit,
these motions all set to the pipe organ song.
It seems so to me, this life that we lead
in these circles set down by our God
that the moments we have and the minutes we share
are for purpose, graver than carnival barking.
That their inference, not always so clear~
and if off and away, beyond these obscuring mirrors
we lift from these circling rotes
and stepping down from the platform, meet the maker
He might just wear overalls and an old button shirt,
a greasy rag hanging from His hip pocket
We'll talk of the constructs that were our life
of that merry go round where we lived;
as we sit on the midway with sweating lemonades in hand.
He'll both laugh and be grave in turn,
the way a man does, full of years
looking back on the time He has wrought,
and perhaps He'll explain why he built it at all
as we sip our lemonade and talk
under the shade of a great sycamore
our seat a bench just to the side of that ride
watching us all from the corner of His eye.