The little flags still flutter
from the castle turrets, but no little girls stand beneath them.
No little boys admire the shiny
armor of the knights guarding the now closed gates.
No water sits in the moat, nor
in the stream under the bridge where the troll stands guard, though there is no
one there to cross.
No, there are no screams of
children whooshing down the slides or feeding goats in the petting zoo.
No more kids
running around, dashing through the maze,
Laughing at the fun house mirrors, shouting inside Peter’s pumpkin.
No more train clacking by,
blowing its whistle.
The conductor repeating the
same spiel he has recited all summer.
There is only the clanking of
the rope on the empty flagpole,
The rustling of leaves in the grass,
The creaking
of the windmill at Dorothy’s house,
And the swings touched only by the wind.
Jack and the Giant have climbed
down from their beanstalk; a silent truce until summer returns.
No, there are no more visitors in the park,
No concession workers
sell lemonade and ice cream,
No one waits in line for the
roller coast; the tracks sit cold and empty.
No one rides the carousel; its
horses await, frozen in mid-prance, until the music plays once more.
The characters remain-
Mother Goose in mid-flight,
Humpty Dumpty on his wall,
Jack and Jill still concussed
at the bottom of the hill.
There they wait,
In the wind,
In the cold,
Soon to be under snow,
Waiting until warmth returns,
the gates open once more,
And the laughter and bliss
of children and adults alike return to Storybook Land.
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