THE DEAD ARE DANCING:

Listen to the silence of the moonlit night,

The dead are dancing, out of human sight,

One step, two step, hovering here & there,

A mere nuance, with a slight chill in the air.

 

Whispering of the breeze, stirring midnight trees,

The sighing of the earth & the moon-moth´s sneeze,

The trailing-soft-slipper-path, of the silvered snail,

The muted crack-creaking, of old coffin-lid´s nail.

 

It´s in the swoop of wing-tip & cold call of the owl,

It´s deep within the throat of the old wolf´s howl,

It´s in tip-toeing of the restless, searching for sleep,

It´s in ebony cemeteries, where the dead lie deep.

 

 

Listen to that place where golden dawn meets dew,

The dead are dancing, invisible & seen by very few,

Gliding through grey mists, to the tunes of lost time,

Disappearing with moonlight, when the sun does shine.