the fellowship of dance and voice

along the shore

the tide was coming in

and it was midnight;

there were stars above

and nervous laughs below.

the tallest mountains were far away,

stripped of sentiment,

exposed to the persistent winds

and rains and snow.

the heavy grinding of ice

from millions and millions of years ago

sculpted and shaped.

and it was warmer than the recent past,

but among the distant city dwellers

there was a noticeable chill.

their newspapers printed front page stories

of calamities and charity bake sales;

local libraries were seeing books 

tossed and turned,

banned and burned.

i could't tell why i found old folk songs

so sad,

especially as the visible fellowship of dance

and voice

seemed vivid

and spirited,

like wild horses on a wild range

where no corral would ever be built.