The Sun flickering through the leaves,
Danced shadows on my face.
While I hatless, and in brimless thought,
Let them choose their own steps.
A tango changed into a polka,
Followed by a slow waltz;
Birds twittered as if they knew the score,
Or were impatient for the next dance?
Like disguised ballroom dresses in Vienna,
Swirling under the swaying baton, of the wind.
© Fingleton (novembre 2016) (Löst Viking)