The Old Dancer
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Groaning, his knees crack as he carefully stand,
aching where in his joints old bones collide
and from his mind a joyful tavern band
revives to pluck a gentle, lilting waltz.
His feet, no longer nimble as they were
clunk heavily upon the wooden boards
but never miss a beat. The music stirs
him to remember how he used to dance.
And as he plods he feels as though
the swollen bones and creaking hipes
dissolve into the ether so
that he can glide and twirl and spin.
Tired, swollen joints and muscles tightening
he gingerly sinks back into his chair.
The cushions wrap around his sagging limbs
and from his lungs a lengthy, weighted sigh.
The dance smiles and
drifts away to sleep.