Oh, the dance of our Sister! <br />First, over the hilltop she peeps stealthily <br />and her eyes are shy <br />and she laughs softly <br />From afar she begs with her one hand <br />her wrist-bands shimmering and her bead-work sparkling <br />softly she calls <br />She tells the wind about the dance <br />and she invites it, because the yard is spacious and the wedding large <br />The big game rush about the plains <br />they gather on the hilltop <br />their nostrils flared-up <br />and they swallow the wind <br />and they crouch to see her tracks in the sand <br />The small game, deep down under the floor, hear the rhythm of her feet <br />and they creep, come closer and sing softly <br />“Our Sister! Our Sister! You’ve come! You’ve come!” <br />and her bead-work shake, <br />and her copper wrist-bands shine in the disappearance of the sun <br />On her forehead, rests the eagle’s plume <br />She decends down from the hilltop <br />She spreads her ashened cloak with both arms <br />the breath of the wind disappears <br />Oh, the dance of our Sister!<br /><br />Eugene Marais<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dance-of-the-rain/
