Four dancing steps, one after the other, leading to a turn. Four biting lines, one after the other, leading to a twist. Through the sighs amd replies of the ballad form, a shape persists - four and then four and then four and the four, on into the distance. Between one thorn tree and the next, in the space between verses, perhaps I'll find the ballad of my life, and live to hear it. Or perhaps I'll wander in search of it, drifting through the unfurling lines, and defer my poignant fate.