Midsummers In Hyde Park Poem by Little Foxling

Voices spiraling to the sky
As the rain pours down
the sky is gray, not an eye is dry
we sit in groups on the ground
a cheerful song rings strong and true
You dont know me, I dont know you
yet we are all here, bound together
here in this foreign place where we've set our seeds
Wreaths of flowers, seven of kind
Blonde women sing in their prettiest gowns
Hyde park has never seem so bright
as we celebrate tonight
The others stare, they dont understand
our tradition, fine and grand
They just dont see why
we sit In groups on the ground
Voices spiraling to the sky