Yellow Blossoms Shine Like Gold
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.

Tall Grass
Ronovan's Decima Poetry Challenge Image
Ronovan’s Decima Poetry Challenge Image

Author: Frank Hubeny

I enjoy walking, poetry and short prose as well as taking pictures with my phone.

17 thoughts on “Ride”

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