Perceiving the air's beat,
He positioned his feet as expected.
Bewitched by the rhythm asserted,
His paraphernalia did compliment his treat.
Pulling junks and unusual stuffs,
He settled on a cracky old muddy stage.
'Hey! , the beat of life did constitute my
rage',
He thundered, as to the inspirationist he did
cast the stuffs.
Being possessed by his virtuous talent,
He resumed his usual relay.
As the littlun did squeeze sound out of their
traditional gadget,
He consciously maintained the unconscious
alley.
'Away! , here he comes; the pouncer.'
'Be not away! , he is sane but 'A street
dancer''.
C.2017