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A Poem: Dance 

He smiled and she, longing
To be sipped, passed
His white picket fence,
Leapt to the place of the beat

Ebony and ivory played sweetly
Swaying gently with the melody until,
The sound ground to a hum and whistle
And a chill changed her pulse

Tango, Tap, or Rhumba
Nothing could stay the Fates.
The music ended with a clash
And the last strains faded out the open door.

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  • A poem by Deirdre Dowling


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