Since none of us get very old Why stand in line to take this ride? Why worry what is left to hide? But demons tempt, "Don't leave your gold." We count all that our hands can hold. Around our magic carousel We hear the call of some church bell. We’re counting still. Wait til we're through. There's so much counting left to do Before the popping of the spell.
Linked to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge where the word “ride” must rhyme on one of the B lines where the rhyme pattern is ABBAACCDDC.