Footloose, get mediaeval on ya’

Footloose, get mediaeval on ya’

the delirious dancing denizens
with wit and spit to spin like tops
when all must rest the ground does fled
and precarious limbs will flail a crop –
“what madness is this Frau Troffea?”
for whipped some up of the Strasbourg lay
frenzied are the initial thirty spot
on that quite strange strange summer’s day-
then, as a great fevered wave,
the hundred’s came and came and came
to crash in-on the unannounced ball
to bounce, to sway, to bray until-
perhaps St. Vitus himself!
came to cast upon a further spell-
a month or so does pass, a slower dance,
or the summer heat had waned at last,
the footloose mania until September had gained
a brief coup of the normal sense of man
the dancing feet, the writhing arms, the thoughtless gaze
all the world is not a stage
but became a dance floor just instead,
no more-
the town square worn bore for what she could
“Frau Troffea, what have you done?”
on the more the merriment the town is gone-
for now only a tale on the books to initiate
the mad revelry that beheld there fifteen one eight
by that river, a forgotten prance
the mad dance in the year of our lord, fifteen one and eight
has passed.

for reference as to what I am writing about… go HERE (it’s a wiki link, relax), sometimes historical context grabs me and asks me for a dance… this would be one of those times….

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