Lush green grass and coloured skirts,
Men in light, white canvas shirts,
Feel the rhythm of my heart,
Before the drums begin to start.
Hear the shouting, whooping cries,
Weave your way through fireflies,
Soles of feat slap on the ground,
A gentle breeze floats all around.
There is no pattern, no uniform,
This grove is where true dance is born,
And when the music trickles free,
I feel my bonds releasing me.
This poem is dedicated to Daniel Fisher :)