The quick beat of feet
The wooden planks vibrate
Their cries are barely recognizable
Over the fiddle
Hand-woven fabrics
Cover the dancers
Sun-baked skin
Dirty and dusty hair
Whoops of joy
And clanks of mugs
Orange light descends
And lanterns appear
Prods and pokes among
The clumps of child-men
Facing the seated skirts
Yellows and pinks
They dance into the night
While the wheat waves in the wind
And the fire roars
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