Once, on a hill in Wales, one summer’s day
I almost danced for what I thought was joy.
An hour or more I’d lain there on my back
Watching the clouds as I gazed dreaming up.
As I lay there I heard a skylark sing
A song so sweet it touched the edge of pain.
I dreamt my hair was one with all the leaves
And that my legs sent shoots into the earth.
Laughing awake, I lay there in the sun
And knew that there was nothing to be known.
Small wonder then that when I stood upright
I felt like dancing. Oh, I almost danced.
I almost danced for joy, I almost did.
But some do not, and there’s an end of it.
One night no doubt I shall lie down for good
And when I do perhaps I’ll dance at last.
Meanwhile I keep this memory of that day
I was an almost dancer, once, in Wales.
(by Robert Nye)