Merry-go-rounds that we remember, with their horses prancing in the sun and a ring to catch for a ride to splendor - we never find them; where have they gone? Do they still go round? Stir the same old wonder as they did when each of us was a child? Somewhere are their calliopes calling with music wonderful and wild? Is our laughter there in the ones whose magic spun our spirits to heights of joy? Are they bright with paint and prancing promise, as when I was a girl and you were a boy?