In
those days the piper played the music of streams:
fast
flowing runs, sprays that erupted in feet,
blood
hitting high C, wheeling dancers dizzy with life.
And
so he played until the official stance on joyfulness shifted.
That
day on Brewel Hill the dancers, kicking up their feet,
angered the gods, who had decreed that
music-making was subversive;
and
for godliness, jollity was transfigured to stone.
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