Like children playing

At the neighborhood park

On a Sunday afternoon

We cling for dear life

To this whirling carousel

We call “Planet Earth”

Our grips grow tired

Our lunches go sour

In our stomachs

And one by one

We let go of the railing

Some of us laughing

Some of us crying

But all of us knowing

That we will either be

Flung into space

Or hold on long enough

To watch the world

Stop spinning

One way or another

The ride must end

But God

What a rush it is

To be alive