There she stood
in the middle of the maze.
The maze was the rhythm
on and on
it commanded
threatening to conquer
my feet surrendered.

Every other sound took to backstage
it was as if the violin took the center stage.
Frolicking in the grassy fields of 
Scottish air.
Running hands through the 
dewy blades of grass.

The rhythm curled up
my tongue smitten
to its charm
every chord rolled off
so smoothly like butter…
my dreams took to a different place.

The rhythm is infectious 
its ways are contagious
twisted monotonous 
hypnotic beckoning of celebration
oh! you sound sweet. 
My feet are barely catching up.

-j.r.m©