Waltzess poem.

Waltzess of Duchess Hill

The first wasn't much of a dancer
The murmurs hushed down through the hall
young, naive, fun-loving, equipped, with
the freedom to thrill or enthrall.

no frills, no messy after-talk
she'd ask the men for their hand
and turn the timid ones gay
as the music was struck by the band

the second somewhat more subtle
although you couldn't tell from her glance
she'd stand in the corner behind the crowds
simply too terrified to dance.

to the other me of the crowd
she charmed me more than the first
perhaps the looks, and the quiet
deep down my throat, this thirst

for someone i truly loved
yet i never knew what it could be
the first changed me, yet she was nice
but i didn't lose myself completely

what now, some asinine comment?
in a bid to grab her attention
with each piercing look
she loves me, she loves me not, ooh the tension

but i'll leave it all till tomorrow
if only it were just a dance
i attach too much worry too much pain
but darling we're not in france.

the last a one as yet to come
not just fun, nor crazy, nor obligatory
you just have to get off your bum
and dance damnit, dance and make merry.