Troubled Thoughts
February 4, 2013
Peter the Padre
February 4, 2013


Like a reed in the breeze,
Her form, like a serpent sways,
Her tousled red hair as flames cascade.
The Irish dancer, dances the dance, of ages,
Her emerald eyes flashing with happy
Faster and faster she whirls around,
Oblivious of all those around,
The dance of the Irish,
The ancient and new,
Her arms sensitively swaying too.
Like a coil of smoke,
She twists and turns,
Yielding, but in sure control.
The best of the Irish in her Soul.
Embracing the rhythm, like her forebears
The music stops, she smiles to herself,
Her swift light footsteps, take her away,
Away to the present, across the room,
To find her friends applauding her warmly