Silent Dancers

Silent Dancers A laboured breath, A rythmic chore, 'Tis life or death, No less, No more. A pirouette, A pas de deux, In pressed flannelette And brushed faux fur. A piano mute, An audience blind, With a silent flute And limbs entwined. A song, a dance It matters not, In time a glance Is soon forgot. The critiques kill Both girl and boy Who lay too still Upon silent joy. In naked flame Each others skin Stirs, in shame, The beast within. And I, the score, The melody, Can play no more Love's tragedy. No rapturous cries, No encore calls, The audience rise, The curtain falls.