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Poem

The dancing pardners, dressed in dungarees,
With checkered shirts, and Stetsons,  boots and spurs,
Are at a wedding. Joy the bride now asks 
The band to play a tune that she prefers.
 
The fiddle music made ’em tap their toes,
But what she wants just brings the place to life:
The hoe down wedding is the place to be -
And Billy-Bob’s so glad that Joy’s his wife.

I shake my head and smile at what I see
And hear the whoops and cries, as couples leap;
The fiddlers play so fast I can’t resist
But soon become a laughing, sweating heap.

I step upon my pardner's boot clad toes, 
And pull her down when I fall to the floor. 
I laugh so hard I cannot get my breath, 
But she is angry, branding me a bore. 

Some stop their dancing just to help me up 
And wait there as I stumble to a chair. 
The newlyweds wrapped in each other's arms 
Dance on as though the rest of us aren't there. 

This is their day, hope I haven't spoiled it 
Even a little bit, that would be sad. 
Most of the guests are crowding to dance floor, 
But as for me, I'll rest here for a tad. 

Before too long, I have to shout, “Yee-haa!”
I clap my hands and then I stamp my feet.
The youngsters feign fatigue and clear the floor 
And, giggling, watch me leap up from my seat...

Written by Jack Horne and Joyce Johnson for Shadow's contest

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