Step DancerShe moves to the music,
A silent ballet in the countryside,
A hush of flute music and violin,
Feathered motions to the rhythm,
An honored silhouette of the ages.
Quiet and calm and beautifully orchestrated,
White as the freshly fallen snow,
New as the rain rushing to the ocean,
A sea breeze returning home,
A flower blossom drifting in found water.
There is unity in silence,
A call to the maidens of the past,
The healing of brokenness and scars,
A whisper of the ancient lands,
A note rising on the wing.
She is joined by many,
Those with clasped hands,
Rising in accord to her own song,
Stepping lightly on the cobblestone,
A beautiful moment in the late evening.
Silence in the mist as the steps are hushed,
The dance is severed by the pan drum,
Emitting a beat that can be felt in fingers,
Sensed in the still air,
Known in the never-trained footsteps.
A violin in the melody,
And the steps follow in its wake,
A thunderous commotion in the quiet town,
Lush and boisterous in the dark green,
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