Bells of jingles dangle, jingle while I strut. ☗ ∰ ፨ ☼ ⑇

Dowsing rod held in my hands, point to different worlds.
Wave my yellow handkerchiefs, adorned in glyphs and swirls.
We, the merry dancers, we heed our thousands chants.

I skip throughout the village, high streets to the moors.
Entities pop out the air, and float into the twilight.
Funny life's gifts follow me, prancing in a row.
We, The Mœris Men, we wield the disks, more disks than you can know.