The Dancers

Three young girls
Were walking home at dusk
With their arms wrapped together
As one

When a sigh in the trees
Rippled through the leaves
And their toes started tapping
In the dust

Their toes started tapping
And itching to the rhythm
The syncopated rhythm
Of their dance

And you couldn’t see their feet
As they wove a birdlike flutter
In the utter joyful stutter
Of their dance

Then they swirled and they glided
And they gracefully subsided
In torrents of clear laughter
From their hearts

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