Vision moving lovely musk dirty as clean earth
Pirouetted graceful she would float
Dark wood were steps she stood shining in her worth
Prow sculpted Teakwood for The Royal Boat
Head high wings tucked behind whisper of a smile
Sails take wind coursed cross Asian routes of trade
Spires turned to steeples peaked roofs made to a style
Every sea journey ‘The Dancer’ made
Time I was in Africa port near old Tangier
Woman shined warm from an alley cold
Saw her tears of sadness not a trace of fear
Her voice shook, said ‘The Dancer’ must be sold
Lent a hand to comfort she quickly spun away Said ‘sir I seek not to abuse..
yes I seek a favor just along your way..
Please give my little sister Mama’s Shoes’.
She rendered me a story.. lyric set in song.. said shoes older than a written word.. said on feet of dancers.. happy was the time.. danced to every song the dancer heard’
As she spoke I would see her on the Bow.. wood with soul.. paint from a master hand.. felt something complete.. good like when so young.. girl danced me a song to understand.
Down behind a wooden barn listened to the stock.. doves same couple been four or five years..
thoughts of girl turned to dance.. sat down on a rock.. song is all my laughter all my tears.
What is in the blood is good when realized.. enjoyed..
Quote For this Day: Comfort found in consistency too often defines boredom..