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The dreaded sign approaches:
"You must be this tall to ride."
This carnival made no exception.
Stature turning him aside.
Dejectedly he wanders;
sea air wafts the smell of fish.
Across a lone machine he stumbles:
"Twenty-five cents to grant a wish."
Fumbling through his pockets,
he knows just the wish to make.
With eyes closed, he thrusts his quarter.
Like blowing out candles on a cake.
The boy's wish had come true.
Another satisfied new client.
No more lines, to worry through.
The whole world's a ride to giants.
