Dancers in the Trees
Swirling green skirts in view,
hidden dancers in the trees,
unseen but seen through the
eyes of the wind,
irrelevant but relevant
to the rustling of the leaves,
dancing to the
rhythm of the winds
in cadence with their
commanding pace,
looking out for ensuing storms,
moving to the fanfares of
the restless breezes,
of heralding trumpets
ushering in the tempest
with the music of their moods,
their demolition upon the earth,
their love affair with the gardens,
their heroic rains,
their ballads,
their Fortissimo Pounding,
their mad dissonance,
their gentle consonance,
dancing to the air of the mood,
lovely rustling of the leaves,
the beauty of their movement,
the swaying of their skirts,
the rhythm in their bones,
the passion in their eyes,
the music in their legs,
the story in their hands,
the poetry in their fingers,
the euphoria in their spirit,
the child in their hearts,
dancing to the
commanding winds,
the dancers in the trees.
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