From the deck of my white ship
I can see scores of white buses
On the lanes that lead to the coast
They are always there waiting
At night I can see illuminated carousels
Spinning wildly in the winter winds
Nobody is riding the stationary horses
And as a sailor I have become used to this
To other sailors on my white ship
This grim theatre seems mysterious
So I send them back to their bunks
And tell them that they will understand in time
This usually works and I am often left alone
To continue my night watch on the darkened bridge
But others stay and watch the spinning carousels
They do not ask questions as no explanations are required