The Mistress of the Dance
by Ian Gordon
She sits in lonely silence a scowl upon her face
As if she no longer associates with our human race
Then magic words are uttered, “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
She wakes up from her stupor no longer in a trance.
A smile breaks over her face like the rising of the sun
She hurries to the dance floor breaking into a skipping run
He takes her in his arms and round the floor they spin
She sings along in perfect tune causing him to grin.
The transformation is complete as she waltzes, foxtrots and tangos
Rumbas, salsas, quicksteps and a couple of sexy fandangos
She is dancing on air, so light and supple is she
Full of graceful movement, so beautiful to see.
She dances on, senses reeling. Laughing with pleasure as she goes
He tries to keep up but cannot match the speed of her flashing toes
He asks, “May I walk you home, do I stand a chance?”
“No Sir, I am spoken for, ‘cause I’m the Mistress of the Dance.”