She danced!
Oh, how she loved to dance!
Grace was the pulse of her heart,
and beauty leaped from the depths of her soul.
Many a time I had stepped haltingly
holding her closely and landing on her toes.
Laughter was her robust and hearty attribute.
It visited her with regularity. But the vulgarity
of my fate leaves me with memories of tripping
lightly on the hardwood of life’s dance floor.
It is all that remains. Disdain invades my thoughts.
She believes war has claimed me. It is for the better that she does.
My legs are ravaged; leaving me lame and uselessly dancing
only in my dreams. Oh, how she loved to dance!

(C) Walter J. Wojtanik

Dance Poem


You step out there, the floor
is vacant and the music begins.
You’ve become a Wal-flower
and hour-by-hour, day-by-day,
you whittle your time away
praying you’ll find a Ginger
to your Fred. But you’re dead
mistaken, for she has taken a turn.
And so you learn to dance by yourself.
Kiss any past alliances bye-bye.
The song is good: a great beat,
easy to dance to, but it’s just you.
Don’t step on your toes.
Lord knows you won’t need to worry
About anyone else’s. You’re on your own.

© Walter J. Wojtanik

Dance Poem