Rainstorm by Nicole N. Niederdeppe
At nightfall they come,
Their feet frolicking along the fields,
In perfect rhythm.
Booming percussion crashes,
An exalting expression of ecstasy.
The tempo slows,
The dancers shuffle cautiously,
Then hastily halt to see
The fiery, flashing disco ball
Streaking yellow all about,
Illuminating their dance floor
With sparkling intensity.
The dancers rise again,
A faster tune summons them.
Their breath shortens,
Exhaled in strong, short gusts,
Nearly cutting short their dance.
Yet they remain
Standing, moving, dancing
In perfect rhythm.
At dawn they depart,
Retreating from the scene
As swiftly as they entered,
They move on, travel forward
To dance again, awakening another field
To celebrate life.
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