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This poem is taken from PN Review 105, Volume 22 Number 1, September - October 1995.

Two Poems Robert Nye

A Time to Dance
Master, is it time to dance?
Look, sap is running down the lance
Where blood should be. The moon is red.
On such a night the living and the dead
Lie close together in the lap of chance.
Master, is it time to dance?

Master, is it time to dance?
Hark, all the bells from here to France
Are ringing in their towers. The sound
They make sends shivers through the ground
So that graves open at my glance.
Master, is it time to dance?

Master, is it time to dance?
In Luna's company I prance,
And ring the bells for her. The floor
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