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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.


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