Walking across a field,
Over a sumptuous yield,
Caught a glimpse trance,
Of that of a peacock dance.
Each step is a measured form,
Each move is a lovely charm,
Each stroke is a graceful fray,
Each gait is an attractive play.
The soft feathers beautifully spread,
In cadence to the rhythmic tread,
The blue dainty neck pouts
To the delicate shouts.
The twinkling eyes express pride,
The soft feathers pose a hide,
The swift trot lets out a vibrance,
The quick hop extols a vagrance.
There ,in the dance, occurs an enlightenment,
There ,in the prance ,emphasises an excitement,
There ,in the ballet, underlies an exhilaration,
There ,in the fine art , envisages a sublimation.