One of my friends has a “catch all” expression that he uses frequently. Whenever anyone does something unexpected, unusual, or inappropriate, we are likely to hear the old fellow repeat, “It takes a lot of people to make up a world.”
He once told me that it is fortunate that we are not all alike. “All types are important. We need thinkers and dreamers to come up with new inventions. We need entrepreneurs to take chances and start new companies and places of business to supply our needs and to furnish jobs for those who are content to punch a time clock and work for a regular wage. Also the world requires at least a few of us who readily tire of a steady job and are always ready and available to fill new positions and part-time jobs.
“There ain’t nothing wrong with working on the same job day after day and year after year, if you enjoy the work and don’t mind the conditions,” he went on. “But if you are a member of a team of Eskimo dogs pulling a sled, you’ll most likely find the job a whole lot less boring and the scenery much more interesting if you can work your way up to being the lead dog.
“Our lives often tend to become quite a bit like a carousel. But I suppose those wooden merry-go-round horses don’t really have it all that bad. They are well cared for and work where there is a good deal of activity. There are always a lot of people around, also lights and music. And they don’t have to worry about a thing. They don’t ever have to be concerned about thinking or making decisions. Like a lot of us, they just keep going ‘round and ‘round.”
Mostly I try not to think
Of how low folks’ hopes can sink,
How depressed and sad, at times,
People can feel
When they’re not winning life’s race,
But kind of “taking up space,”
Each, just one more bent spoke in
Time’s rusty wheel.
Years can surely take their toll
On the spirit and the soul.
Time can grind one’s confidence
Into the ground.
It wears down more than a few,
And the same thing must be true,
For each painted horse on a
In a large amusement park,
From morning till after dark
Beautiful horses run with
Smooth grace and pride.
Their home, the merry-go-round
Has a cheery, tuneful sound.
For many children, it’s their
On it, the circle of steeds
Of uncertain wooden breeds
Have shiny hides and hooves that
Reflect the sun.
Whites and blacks, spotted, and bay,
Carry the children all day,
’Round and ‘round in a daylong
They all move equally fast –
There is no first place or last –
All day long these steeds make their
Running, as long days drag by,
Never pausing to ask “Why?”
The calliope cheers them on
With jolly sounds.
’Way back when I was a child,
Of those horses, fast and wild,
One big blaze-faced bay was my
“Thunder” had great strength and speed,
More than any other steed,
But I have never been one
To boast or brag.
We’d gallop around that track,
Close behind a speedy black,
With Thunder’s head high, and me,
Bursting with pride.
I was dead certain, of course
That mine was the fastest horse,
And we could pass them all if
We really tried.
Today I can only pray
Thunder’s still happy today,
Content with how his life’s race
Is being run.
And when each evening sun sets,
My old horse has no regrets
And, for him, running with the
Pack is still fun.