Yes, Poet, there is a Carousel

I met a poet working in a shop recently. I was looking at some plates with images of Paris on them, the Eiffel Tower, Sacre Coeur, Arc de Triomphe and a carousel. He asked me if I remembered the carousel in Paris, because he never saw it. I didn't really. It's been years since I've been in Paris. Later, I discovered a poem about the carousel. So, for you, poet, proof of your carousel.

Carousel de Paris
from 7 Little Parisian Poems
Elizabeth Smither

Across the avenue and through the trees
the carousel turns. All the white horses
pierced through with shafts like unicorn horns

and a little gilded rearing horse
on the peak of the wooden tent
and the frill - so domestic, so sweet

and this eternal - when it is going - motion
surely it is the most assured, most desirable
motion in all the world. Is it a bellows

like the rising and falling of lungs
or the heart and its cavities, emptying, filling
or simply hope of a firm earth and heaven?