Dance Is Done No Fun
The flame dances;
A charmed serpent weaves;
Back and forth to the music.
Air waves alive with music,
Make me want to dance;
As I sit here, poetry weaving.
I don’t rise, the room is weaving;
I lose the sound of the music;
I’m dizzy, nauseated; forget the dance.
I’m feeling faint again;
I have that darn flu.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2019
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