Coming up a rise in the trail I spied them,
poised, still life of a dance beginning.
Some stick-straight except for their fiddle heads
bent in a formal bow as if preparing to contradance.
Others, more unfurled, a bit wilder, looser,
looking almost raucous in their heady celebration of spring.
It is this dance I want to join, moving loose, lanky, free,
intoxicated by new life, waving wantonly in the spring breeze.