Red and green bows
Puffy, flared skirts
Ballerinas,
An instructor standing in the middle of the hall
All attention focused on him
With his long staff in hand
And then I see them
The girls,
Dancing with their feet crossed,
Toes pointed and heads held high.
Their hair spun height into buns
On the top of their heads,
Sort of a mystical, ethereal setting,
The colors are soft,
Their skin a delicate, soft color.
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A little boy sits,
Perched on his father’s lap,
Straddling the banjo,
Apparently twice his size!
Little spontaneous strums and twangs escape from the instrument,
And then the father’s soft chuckle,
As he beholds the glee and wonder
Of the little boy upon his lap.
Then e speaks,
Giving a little hint
And the twangs slowly, gradually
Arrange themselves into a little melody.
Beside them sits a pot on the floor
And the red legs of the stool on which they sit
Peak out from under.
The mountains in the background,
Singing along.
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Rolling hills,
A fine patchwork quilt of vibrance.
A stream winding through,
The straw hat of a farmer
Bobs up and down above the heads of wheat.
Night- it glitters with streams of stars,
Leading the way to freedom.
Grasses, swaying in the midnight breeze.