A Hidden Maestro

I was a professional, melodic dance instructor, at the flowery prime of the art, And I taught its various, elegant styles, sweet joy of valuable living to impart. The noble old classic styles will never die, like the endless, hit parade of stars, While the new ones add such excitement, like mellow music of golden guitars. Sometimes I fantasized what it'd be like, if crowds of people danced together, Would it be complete, disordered chaos, or pretty like purple fields of heather. Friends came around the sudden bend, beneath the greenest, fluttering tree, To resume mutual, rosy good times, like the early sunrise clash with blue sea. I sat in lavish gardens among family, mid whimsical talk of the good old days, As vast, hazy clouds recall the sunshine, and nightingale recalls golden rays. I lived the house of blue magic, where teal, starry-eyed moon loomed nightly, Just like recurring spells of lunar rainbows, in dazzling skies, shining brightly. I lived on the street of buoyant butterflies, and intermittent, silvery laughter, Where red dogwoods had blithe days, until luscious fall leaves would scatter. Neighbors were next door when needed, or across spicy street or in my yard, And we shared recipes and red roses, under the stained sunsets of disregard. Summer was in the purple, sudden rose, staring coolly at cherry, flaming sun, Like languorous, cool evenings of a staring moon, following thrill days of fun. Twilight, fragrant berries were on bushes, and wrens were singing high notes, As ambrosial Mars recalled brighter days, and clouds roamed with new hopes. In golden sweet time I went on vacation, taking a silken train for the scenery, Like the vast sweep of bloom fraught wind, touching blue skies and greenery. I was riding my train, outward bound, when to my charmed ears came music, Seemingly coming out of mauve nowhere, as crowds danced, nearly too thick! The pretty music never ceased, and people danced in every town we passed, As magic lingered along the miles, like prancing olden days, still holding fast! A mystery train had stopped in rapture, like orange sun in ruby, dusky skies, And people were dancing all over the world, like plum hued butterflies arise. My daydream fantasy had turned real, as masses danced in joyous abandon, And it was a harmonious sight to see, like blossoms come and go, at random. Coral, beneficent sun turned deep yellow, as I retuned home with memories, Of the sweetest, most triumphant kind, for I could still hear sacred melodies.