16.
Young me wanted the Pied Piper
to come one night to our town,
play sweetest notes on his magic flute
and call us all away – we children
who longed to escape the adult world.
What lands would he lead us to, dancing?
What fairytale surprises had always awaited
down past the end of the lane, out and away
across the fields and into the far forest?
I knew I would never come dancing back.
17.
The Seventh Seal
ends – or begins?
Death leads a line
of following figures
stretching raggedly
along the hilly horizon:
black silhouettes
against white sky.
They are holding hands.
They appear to be dancing.
18.
When I was a little kid, dancing
was what I did for joy. I didn’t
even need music. I twirled and
jumped and threw my arms up,
and went round and round and
kicked my legs and spun on my
tiptoes, and of course there was
always delicious squealing. Oh,
when I was little, I knew nothing
at all about dancing, I simply did.
19.
She calls to me, my tiny cat,
insistently, with loud and
strident voice. I pick her up,
I rock her in my arms. She purrs.
Her small paws flex,
ecstatic. I dance with her
around and around the room.
Oh, I croon, the things we do!
The things we do, the things we do,
the things we do for love.
20.
What happens when the dancing stops?
Ring-a-ring-a-rosy, all fall down?
‘Thank you,’ politely and go separate ways?
Or, shall this be a new romance?
After the ball, do those likely lads
straighten their uniforms and march off to war?
(That has been known to happen. Think Waterloo.)
Or do we wind down quietly in the old church hall
while the musos pack up their tired instruments,
and then all toddle home to a nice, calm bed?
See also Poems 1-5, Poems 6-10, and Poems 11-15.
The whole sequence is now available as a free ebook. To access it (and others) first go here.