She dances under the moon.
Her body imagining it is still moving like it once did.
The life lines on her face tell her story.
Like fireflies...they light up her face
and paint her memories in the sky.
Memories of dreams and desires and joy.
Memories of pain and loss and suffering.
Memories rooted in love.
Generations of love and music dance her bones.
Dance, grand lady, dance.
The Grandmothers are singing the music of your dance.
They sing the music deep into her soul.
She dances under the moon...
she dances under the moon...
she dances under the moon. - Judith Keczan