When Old Dancers Die

She was a dancer But now at age sixty seven During the days Her ghost leads small groups Of aging seniors In pilates stretching Several times a week She was a dancer And though her feet Remember every heel and toe That she had ever done Arthritis keeps her From ever thinking Of a simple lock step Ever again She was a dancer Whose feet flew This way and that Across every stage From New York to California But was never chosen To be the one To play that special role And though She is sixty seven And the direction of time Can never flow back Somewhere After the sun departs And night time covers the land She closes her eyes And still dreams Of the time She was a dancer