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Poem

A party in 1863
A girl about to wonder
A young naïve unruly thing
Scandalously ponders.

Weaving in and out of sight of contemplations weary light
A sort of fun majestic flight that sooths the hungry appetite

Allowing such a naughty thing
Would surely be a bandit
Too much fun would spoil the rules
An exercise too candid.

She sings and starts a merry dance to wondrous a circumstance
It’s miracle a dazzling trance to tempting to a rigid stance

Imagine old and grumpy men
All standing in a circle
Too proud to take a lady’s hand
Would surely be a Mir’cle

Beyond the real she soon collides within a societal divide
To let the morays soon subside a feeling they won’t soon deny

They gasp in their deliverance
To see a lady sway
Too devious to behold
Too hard to look away

But now is not the time for this a memory they would soon dismiss
This sort of ‘havior can’t exist you’ll have to settle for a kiss.

So there you have it as it was
Before we all were born
Today a girl can dance all day
And barely be adorned.

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