The Whooping Crane

A strange song rises into the air,
the song of the whooping crane,
Around in the circle they move gracefully,
a circle inside a circle,
They raise their wings and lift their feet,
their heads rise and fall gently
silently they go around with an awkward grace.
Like outstretched hands,
their wings rise and fall in the motion of the dance,
the inward circle attain a slow frenzy,
then they stop.
The singers join the silent circle,
and the dance begins again,
the setting sun turns white to gold,
Sixteen white shadows dance the dance,
swaying with the grass,
Like captured magic being set free
darkness closes in, yet they continue,
whiter than clouds or lilies,
they dance illuminating the dark,
then in one quick movement,
they are gone,
though their song lingers,
so ends the dance of the whooping crane.