I got up and danced for the Solstice,
the turning point of the year.
It was two-forty-five in the morning,
full moon hidden by cloud-too bad
the night wasn't clear.
Only the cat saw me dancing,
maybe the cat could hear
the song I made for the Solstice,
the turning point of the year.
It was a celebration:
the light had won
over night.
While sensible people slept
I danced, through
the turning point of the year.