Something Nice

15 05 2006

Song and Dance

She took his hands and made him dance,
Held his body against the noise,
The din, the sound, became a song,
Amidst the loud unruly boys,
And she heard a faint melody
Sing from deep inside his eyes,
Calling for her poetry and pretty skies,
And not so much for these falsetto highs.
It was true talent he desired, and if only he knew
How she and music had so mystically conpired.

“I believe she sang,” whispered the boy,
Years, years, and so many years later,
The greying winters, the nightless dawn,
And the tired, tired withering lawn,
And still he remembered that one harmony,
That quiet, faint, and luxurious memory,
Echoed from distant poets and melodies,
Conserved from this time, these and some other regrets,
The sound-made boy holds her lyrical silhouette.

“I believe he danced,” whispered the girl,
Days, months, and so many still even now,
The coldest beds, the emptiest house,
And still the heart wanted out,
She still recalled his perfect step,
The graceful talent she gracefully met,
Such an honest tap, hours later not weary yet,
She recalled his teary eyes and softened lips,
Still spends her vacations wandering home to him.

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