Her hair is wild, absolutely untamable,
And mischievous brown eyes flash
Between the tangles of silky brown strands.
The woman behind the microphone sings
Of love,
heartbreak.
And the little girl spins, flails, leaps
Weaving precariously between couples holding each other close,
Oblivious to the toes she is nearly crushing,
The peace she is disturbing.
Women peer over their husband’s shoulders
Some scorning the whirlwind of chaos
Some laughing to themselves
But all envying the utter lack of grace,
The ultimate display of care-free
The fragile dance of freedom and youth.
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