The Rite

 

 

 

The children dance and play under the moon,

Nighttime autumn light soaring high above.

A gothic hymn they seem to chant and croon,

An Eerie sight I just can’t get rid of.

 

Now the bonfires flames reach up toward the sky,

The nighttime air has a distinctive bite.

The elders mingle and sit on standby,

Why the young gyrate and sing in delight.

 

With Coffee or cider and many treats,

The fire burns down to and orange glow.

Again and again the same song repeats,

With me observing this autumn’s night show.

 

Late or early they return to their cars,

Still reciting that victory is ours.

10/01/2021

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

The imagery is intoxicating. Thanks.