The Dance. A poem speaking of my love of the paintings of Marc Chagall

If I could choose - I would be living - under a round yellow sun, where - a red fiddler stands, with a ring in his nose-

a blue violin tucked under his chin.

Let the music begin.

A golden green girl I would be - long indigo hair,

sea shells for a necklace. I have flowers for the fiddler,

afloat on the breeze in the skies.

A tipsy Gypsy, twisting and turning -

let the joyful dance begin.

A painter arrives on a sunbeam, a violet cockerel in his arms - giddy bird whirling and twirling whilst dancers dance and lovers entwine - there is no time - only golden time never again to return to the greys of familiar days....

Let me be here, be seduced here -

stay forever in mystery - eternally dancing the dance.

I would see a bird with a crown looking down -

from a nest nestled within a silvery tree.

Humans transformed into fantastic creatures.

They would sing the best songs - where food -

is as light as moon dust - plucked from the air.

Fluorescent abalone shells filled to the brim with wine -

as divine as raindrops infused with the dews of the morning -

before sweet sleep holds us all in her arms.