The Old Dancer

Old Dancer.

The steps play out still
Like music in his head
The movement is alive
But the rythem is dead.

Her smile is a memory
Her dazzling flash and flare
Speed of hips and feet
As she floats on rythmic air

He feels her close against him
They move once more as one
He her air and light
She his silver moon and golden sun

But time stole his speed and step
Nothing in life is meant to last
Now he sits and watches
Just an old dancer from the past

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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