Dancing Days

October 2, 2008
By
DANCING DAYS

Breathtaking, brutal, I watch,
Eyes that don't see, ears that can't hear.
A stifferened smile that has died.

Legs that used to twirl,
Hands who once held frsgile waists,
Now retire to the grandstand.

Music has stopped, Bach is asleep,
Tangos terminate, waltzes wait.
Spanish rhythms take a siesta.

Cold hands grasp warm ones,
Wry-ridden tears replay.
Sunkissed hair desaturates.

A ballroom blackens,
Into a grave, echoing room.
"He's done a lot of dancing."





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