The fairground, finding myself in mirrors,
Perplexed and dazed by the lurid colours,
Of green and red and blue plastic rivers,
Hardly a place of magical wonders.
Step and sink into a cavernous tear,
As a clocked man, in black, with joy looks on.
The gradient black and smudge to ensnare,
Such a sad and most bizarre liaison.
Speckles of sun dance through a hexagon,
With naught a passenger of real meaning,
As clowns, indifferent, feast on golden swan,
The entire affair confused and demeaning.
But, see there! Upon the yellow river!
A floating old box labeled Lost & Found.
The apprehension does make one shiver,
For answers to right this trip, most profound!
