Riverdance
to the memory of Irish rain

Intermittent notes play,
the random plucking of harp strings,
a tune up for solo raindrops
pinging softly off the roof.
The pipes bring squalls of wind
heralding a chorus of syncopated showers,
the perfect tempo of dancer's tapping feet.
A distant thunder of bodhran approaches,
the main players take centre roof
and the cloudburst comes,
a frenzied tattoo of roaring rain
- a riverdance.
The entire cast of musicians and dancers
in a wild crescendo of monsoon.
Hairs on your neck tingle with the thrill
of the performance.
Curtain calls of secondary showers imprint
their persistent rhythm on your brain.
As darkness falls on the stage we are aware
of the sweet music of dawn
and the new melody of birdsong.

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