Today, poetry is not in my hands, but in my feet.
I can put steps to music easy as breathing,
but don’t ask me to make words good.
Today, the fiddle and the accordion move me.
The mandolin and the drum get my foot tapping,
but my hands just go where the music says.
Today, I revel in giant floor fans and breezy doorways,
in marvelous bands and old-time friends.
no poetry is in my hands today, my feet have danced it all away.