Queen of the Dance
Little old lady, frail but bright,
flanked by granddaughters
whose love for her shines out.
She speaks, using voice and hands,
when something pleases her, she bows,
clasping her hands, as if in prayer.
Down the marble staircase, she dances,
light steps, singing softly,
moving to music in her soul.
Arriving to dinner, regal, a queen,
cream lace dress, painted nails,
emerald tiara on her silver head.
Everywhere she goes, she dances,
grasps a passer-by to partner her,
this lady is dancing at a ball.
A waltz, softly stepped, memories
flooding in, forgotten tomorrow maybe,
but now she is queen of the dance.
She will be missed by all those
who love her, but they will cherish
that joyful last waltz at the ball.
Ruth Mawdsley
May 2019
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