There was a small county fair on the edge of a rather gritty, rundown town. My wife and I found it while on a ride and decided to go there. It was small and rather pathetic, but they were trying.
We gravitated towards the sound of the merry go round. It too was small. Not a big music making ride with mechanical drums and cymbals, it played recorded music over a speaker.
Next to this ride was a farm tent. This one had a pen of sheep on display. I like animals and visited a small pen of sheep. As I looked at the sheep the merry go round began to play. It was the music of the fifties, played on an electric organ. The Four Aces had a good disk on it, "Tell Me Why." But this recording had a mournful sound. It must have been in a minor key.
As the music began to play, I looked into the eyes of a young sheep. The sheep looked back at me as if we were friends and it wanted to speak. I thought of the fate of the sheep. After it was judged it would most likely be killed. It was the way things are.
As we walked back to the car, I was struck by the melancholy of the scene--a little ride with its sad recording. And I could not get the sheep out of my mind. The sheep were crowded into a pen. They must have heard the tune many times.
One can know why this all had to be by reading the story of the fall. It's all there, and the remedy is too. But I still felt the sorrow of it all.