Passing Carousel Riders: To Laura

I look at you,

                 my friend,

in your lean blonde chassis,

circa late 1950s, a smile

like sunlight, an air

of childish naievete still,

and I see myself.

It's always good to see you.

Your youngest is graduating 

and off to college;

I celebrate with you.

I, this time around, opted

for no children, no

such celebrations.

It saddens me sometimes.

Those tiny joys are beauteous,

but in my centuries

on this earth I've seen them come

and go, replaced by disappointments

when the borne hope dissipates.

I've seen the body sag;

all too often, the smile diminish.

You and I, passing

one more time around

on this merry-go-round called life,

on similar horses,

but slightly different trappings.

I like the way yours sparkles

Perhaps on this turn,

you'll catch the ring.