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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