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| The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Georges Nijs |
This poem also starts with a tune
Smoothly spinning round by round, the dainty
sound propels her nimble ever faster
on her toe tip, dances almost fainty;
swirling silk and skin of alabaster.
Then revolving in a vortex nearing
heaven, desperate hope for reaching the light,
when she tosses down on the gateway hearing
seven ditties in speaking: God of the night
will not let you stay. The land of beauty
is not for the living. Yet on grassland
thousand flowers throbbing in a fluty
wait for dancers colouring the world unbanned.
There is no escape. Death is certain.
Bring the golden cup and lift the curtain.
(On the The Twelve Dancing Princesses by Alexander Afanasyev, Samhain 2021)
