Dance while you can joyful jumpers
Let Nordic winds sing their chilling saga’s
Through your ever open arms
Colours brighten in winterly sun
As you gavotte above the tree
Soon human arms will confiscate your joy
And rob you of your fast flamenco twirls
On Iona’ holy Isle.
Shooting star… lone survivor of constellation!
Rest returned to black hole!
Many are baked but few are chosen!