The sisters dance,
singers of their own music,
a concert of harmonies and movement
until you cannot see the steps
but only the blur and whirl
of approach and approach,
an endless circular procession.
And the petticoats of their days
and the embroideries and adornments
appointed here and there;
each with a gift to share,
a secret to reveal,
a qualified promise.
They are the seasons.
Angel-Pie Mouse © Copyright, 1998, ..., 2003
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