Barn-Dance

The harvest cleared from fruitful furrows,
Workers gather,
Celebrating their accomplishment, their release.

Many hands toiled to see this day,
Now clapping,
Calluses ignored in the rhythm of the dance.

The reaper flings with a shy farmer’s daughter,
Turning her
Every which way to the weaving of the violin.

Faster and faster he flies round with her,
These dancing partners
Perhaps to become more before long.

Water-of-life seeps into dry throats,
Making sunset faces,
Trickling down the burning brook of thirst.

Bonfires glow on into the night,
Their kindling dwindling
Until the dawn of smoky peat-fuelled winter.