A while ago, I visited a local centre for disabled people, some physically disabled and some with learning difficulties. They entertained us with an American Indian folk story, in dance. Some were in wheelchairs and a few on foot. I was touched by the obvious enjoyment and dedication and skill they brought to the performance.
One could feel how their self-assurance and self-esteem was uplifted.
I had to try to capture the atmosphere in a poem, hence:-


The music commands,
the wheelchairs roll.
Wearing a war bonnet
the lad steps awkwardly
on to the spot-lit floor.

Slowly approaching his Love;
seeing only beauty in the
lolling braided head,
he assumes the grace
of a fleet-footed Brave.

The forest beckons.
He runs, he hunts; collecting
trophies for the maid. he fights.

The enemy scatters before him.

In the torchlight
from the paper fire, she sits
fettered, eyes downcast.
Her handmaids wheel around her
until the music brings him back.

The God of Thunder applauds.

The Youth bows, straightens,
strides off…a warrior still.

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