Roundabouts by Stuart Stromin

When you’re lost wandering around

In your imaginings

When you’ve played chess without your pawns

And you’ve counseled with kings

And while that hard slap to the face

Is startling as it stings

What you lose on the roundabouts

You make up on the swings

When you’re a dancing marionette

With invisible strings

When you’ve flown too close to the sun

And melted your wax wings

And spun the wheel enough to know

The randomness of things

What you lose on the roundabouts

You make up on the swings

When you’re bombarded with arrows

And stones flying from slings

And even though the game is rigged

You can grab the golden rings

And life goes on from day to day

No matter what it brings

What you lose on the roundabouts

You make up on the swings