Ribbons, pearl and purple,
dangle from the maypole
down to the pale
hands of children, who pull
them, giggling. They purl
in breezes, and almost rumple.
Under the old eyes of a principal
whose narrow glance is ample
to subdue but not appall,
the children spill
around the skinned and limbless maple
as if outside the temple
of a declining god of simple
rituals easily met. Bells peal.
Old tunes impose their spell
on the awkward small feet…… More »