I hear the tempo
of your upbeat music,
the swing and sway of skirts,
as your hands sweep across the keys
and elicit such exquisite melodies.
My feet tapping out the rhythm
of many beating drums,
the passion of a thousand violins.
That moment when the music becomes
the pure magic of the night stars,
and the moonbeams dance
upon the wavering heartbeat
of a seductive Moon.
You belt out, "The Lady In Red"
as your words conjure up
images of a red seductress.
My partner and I step up to the vision
of past dancers. We become Fred Astaire
and Ginger Rogers dancing
across the grandest ballroom floor.
We can be anything
in this moonlit moment of two.
You keep on singing and playing
the piano...still unaware of the spellbinding
enchantment you have created
with your voice and with your hands.
This poem is about a magical moment at the Bethel Inn in Maine
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