Tall stone, fixed in a garish pas-de-deux
fourteen weathered blocks, and
one other.
A dancing master? A luckless spectator
or a sad
fiddler making for home when the Sabbath
hour was struck? Legend says
a second fiddler
appears, just as the first
puts down his bow. The newcomer,
a better player by far, driving
dancers even faster, in a manic
reel, feet breaking earth. Ankle deep.
A dark fellow in a
dark hat. . .