Fairground


Come with me on this sunny day
To the Fair down Dingle Way
Holding hands on the village green
To live again our childhood dreams

There’s Hoopla rings to pitch and toss
Hot meat pies and candyfloss
Sizzling doughnuts all deep fried
Roustabouts dark and gypsy eyed

Old folk under the Cedar arch
Tap their feet to a Souza march
Shouts and laughter, girly screams
Oily smells and spouting steam

I show my strength and ring the bell
We climb upon the Carousel
Holding tight to the twisted bars
We steal a kiss under bulb lit stars

Headlights probe the winding tarmac
Down the lane, across the track
May time evening, twilight birdsong
So blessed to be where we belong
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Author's Notes:
Don’t think I’ve written a poem on a clown, this is the nearest I can offer.

A simple little poem on the small travelling fairs that still visit the small towns and rural villages around England. I think that why they still survive in this day of large theme parks is more to do with keeping open a way of life for the travelling people than making money.

Candyfloss is pink spun sugar on a stick.