Under the largest oak, six or eight people
sit around a drum to play and sing,
and the drum is big. The sound of it
is the heartbeat of earth and of a child
and of each drummer, who also sings
songs that follow brooks and streams
to rivers that flow, just as fast, and fill
foundations left empty by the drum
that pushed up mountains from earth.
Rivers fill them and make lakes that reflect
the dancers - percussionists, every one.
High-stepping, nodding, twirling, toe-to-heel,
with jingles, bells and shells that riff with
creeks and drum, earth-beat. Loud, insistent,
beautiful and eternal, singers' voices rain,
all big sound in and around the drum, forever.
Until it stops, boom on a dime,
hey yah hey, hey yah hey, yo.