They danced and the rain fell, but they did not feel it
In fact, it was not until they heard the thunder that they paused
They raised their faces and drank in the smell
This is what life is, they thought

They recalled sickness and death--
Sadness, and the smell of burnt flesh
And yet they have cried all of their tears
They dance now, and pray for the future

The sound of drums and trumpets
And tambourines and laughter
And baby voices and the fire’s crackle
All unite in joyful unison

And they dance, their faces lifted to the sky
Weeping with joy that they are alive in this moment.
They have wept all of their tears
They dance now, and pray for their future

The children watch on the edges,
Giggling and playing the parts of dancers
They see and they will remember
This is the way to form a new generation

This new people will not be afraid of life,
They will accept it, and realize that
Life has its chapters—it has dark rooms and light rooms,
But it is still one book that needs to be read

This new generation will remember their sorrows,
Will retell them in the dark and in the sun,
Will keep them through the day and through the night,
But will remember, too, that this is life, not death

This new creation will laugh at life’s idiosyncrasies,
Will keep hope in their mind always--
This new people will live, and will teach their children
How very important it is to be

So they dance, and they dance because they know
Sorrow cannot last forever, and the sun can dry all tears
They have seen the swallow in its nest,
And they have felt the softness of new grass

They know they cannot leave a mournful existence to their children
They realize the importance of shaping the future,
So they dance! They laugh and sing,
They take joy in their existence

Because it is the one thing they can hold on to, when all else is gone

I'm from the non-stop ticking of an active heart,
from Kleenex and star-gazing.
I'm from the crispness of fall on your tongue,
the old crab-apple tree, the wild growing lilacs.

I'm from twirling like dervishes and always running late,
from sweets and generality to now or never.
I'm from internalizing and erasing my words,
from being an oak tree in the storm and soaping my hands before washing them.

I'm from mile-high arches.

I'm from the coasts and the heartland, the old people and the new,
from spaetzle and goolash,
from never learning enough and right timing,
from the way a smile can light a room,
from the silent sound of a soul leaving its body.

I'm from musky basements and cabinets,
from dusty old books and torn old pages,
from sentiment as precious as a thousand years,
as rare as the sunset of yesterday.