Nineteen dancers in fiery orange dresses danced before me,
Unchoreographed but synchronized by the same melancholy melody.
Atop nineteen posts they swayed and twirled
And slowly, nineteen wishes lay unfurled.
They do not seem to get tired and their dance gets bolder with every turn,
As debris of the posts droop from their tiny stages that are now worn.
Still they did not stop even as the posts become smaller.
“When will this be over?” I wonder.
As I watch the dancers grow taller I get uneasy,
For the wishes are getting crazy.
So I took a step forward to end their fun,
By putting each dancer to rest, one by one.
Coldness and darkness envelopes the now empty room,
So I revived the nineteen dancers in fiery orange dresses on my own loom.