The wind rustles your hair as the sun brings joy .
It tells your secrets and they are well kept.
They go where it is needed turning gracefully.
Will you dance again?
What about your joy?
Its buried now and your hair is gone.
Birds dancing and your bare arms reach for me.
Saves the last dance.
I love your cold breath and the heat.
Your almost home.
But you will leave as before.
Dance for me.
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2011