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When I was just a wee one, my mom taught me to dance,
To start, I balanced on her toes, but then steps more advanced.
She showed me how to Fox Trot - I could cut a decent rug ...
Steps for waltzing and the Samba, but we'd mostly ... jitterbug.
That was my mom's favorite, that she always danced with Dad ...
I'd seen them do it once-or-twice, (to perfection, I might add).
They had some fast, amazing moves and a chemistry quite rare,
A bounce and rhythm filled with joy, like they truly danced on air!
My dad worked many hours then, so to catch them was a treat,
Swinging tight to big band Jazz, with their twirling arms and feet.
To observe them in their element was rare, and struck a chord,
So I'd ask my mom to show me, if I thought she might be bored.
No way did I dance good as Dad, still 'twas special for us both,
So here-and-there we'd jitterbug, through all my years of growth.
Later times, when I had moved away, and I'd call on them a while,
I'd find a chance to dance with Mom, cuz it brought her face a smile.
It was just one little thing, you see, but it bloomed in her as joy,
And it danced us back to memories when she'd taught me as a boy.
So when MY wee ones came along, I taught THEM how to dance,
And they can jitterbug now, too, and shake and twirl and prance!
Well, Mom's now in her nineties, and her bones aren't very strong,
But the other night we danced again, (tho' she didn't last for long).
We gently placed the self-same steps, even turned a couple spins,
But it wasn't long until we quit, cuz the strength had left her limbs.
Still, some teary sparkles lit her eyes and a smile adorned her face,
For while the bounce had left her step, she'd done it all with grace.
Now, someday when I'm slowing, and those seas of life grow calm,
I will look ahead with joy, once more, for the chance ... to dance ...
(This was written for a contest, but as per my usual, I didn't see until after writing it that it had to be limited to 24 lines, and I just could NOT cut a verse. Oh, well ... live and MAYBE learn, lol. It is the reworking of an old, much shorter piece, for my dearest person).
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