In the heart of the village square,
Where echoes of laughter fill the air,
A circle forms, hand in hand,
Bound by rhythms of the land.

Feet stamping on the earthen ground,
In vibrant costumes, they spin around,
Stories told through every move,
A dance that ancient spirits approve.

Melodies of flute and drum entwine,
Guiding steps in a sacred line,
Each gesture a tale of yore,
Of harvest, love, and war.

As dusk descends, the flames ignite,
Casting shadows in the fading light,
A folk dance that binds and frees,
In its embrace, we find our peace.