My goal was to include a short poem about the prompt.
I went to my room, the old drawer was stiff and hard to open but I managed. Things from Nan The box was labeled. I picked up and read an old poem she wrote.
Around and around it seems my life goes,
In a carnival being sat on, oh my poor nose!
Surely this torture may finally end,
My rusty spine of course my friend.
Freedom won’t come to me,
For freedom is where I’m meant to be.
How very dare anyone else decides to sit,
Freedom! Freedom! Will be the end of it!
That poem was the last ever heard of Nan, my favorite carousel horse…