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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=547782" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Call For The Next Dance</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(for Harry) <br> <br>How we used to dance together.<br> <br>The dinner table would be set<br>With its lyrical sparkle of low light, <br>the candle would bid us: <br>Dance! <br>With mine, your body would move<br>in all directions, <br>weaving a poetry of motion<br>creating – unconsciously- <br>beautiful memories <br>that we would summon<br>with a smile, <br>not sorrow<br>when we could not dance <br>together anymore<br>Ah, how we loved to dance<br> <br>In the morning<br>At noon<br>In the evening<br>How we loved to dance <br> <br>When eternity was ours <br>in our moments of solitude together<br>or with a coterie of friends<br>or even total strangers, <br> we would dance<br>You would dance with a swarm of<br>lithe bodies or stiff ones<br>As long as I was there<br>I would watch as your feet pirouetted<br>as if controlled by some spirit of their own<br>You loved to dance<br> <br>And before the next ball<br>I was snatched as I was about to hurl myself<br>to your waiting arms <br>after we were apart for a few days<br>the few that seemed frustratingly infinite<br>But the train came too fast, stopped long<br>(or short) enough to load me and absconded<br>before I could beg for a chance to say<br>to you<br>Goodbye<br>in the fashion we were accustomed<br>I wish we could have gone to the <br>Last Dance<br>which you skipped <br>because I could no longer go with you<br>Even if<br>You loved to dance<br> <br>Lately, I would silently feel you <br>intuitively hankering for a dance <br>But you would not move your feet<br>Because I could not mine <br>Even if <br>You loved to dance<br> <br>Because you must, <br>I let you grieve<br>I let you stop dancing<br>Even if <br>You loved to dance<br> <br>The datebook of the past year is no longer there<br>in its place one desperate to remind you <br>time has moved forward with slow precision<br>Or have you not noticed? <br>The interregnum has been long<br>Even the Great Source of Wisdom says<br>There is a time for everything<br>A time to cry, a time to laugh<br>A time to hurt, a time to heal<br>Too, there must be, for you, <br>A time to forget, a time to remember<br>A time to bury a loved one, <br>A time to exhume the stirring memories<br>that say life does not end with one death, <br>Like how <br>You loved to dance<br> <br>There is a ball <br>Why does the spirit in your feet slumber<br>Still? <br>You do not want to go<br>because I will not be there, <br>You think? <br>Even if <br>You loved to dance<br> <br>Go to the bedroom<br>(Which is no longer ours but yours; let the <br>last of me vacate it so you can be whole) <br>Open the wardrobe<br>Retrieve your dancing pants<br>and your dancing shoes<br>Heed the call of the dance floor<br>It missed you for too long<br>This last time<br>I will be there <br>Before the clock strikes at midnight<br>Let me go<br>Because really<br>I have gone a long time<br>as your dance partner<br> <br>Before I go, brace your ears<br>Let me stay <br>long enough to whisper to you<br> <br>Dance again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(10 July 2007) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">*Harry is my California-based friend. His wife died unexpectedly. I wrote this a year after he was widowed when I and his other friends thought he was behaving like he was buried with his wife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Cheryl+L.+DaytecYa%C3%B1got">Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=547782" data-title="Call For The Next Dance de Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot" data-description="(for Harry) 
 
How we used to dance together.
 
The dinner table would be set
With its lyrical sparkle of low light, 
the candle would bid us: 
Dance! 
With mine, your body would move
in all directions, 
weaving a poetry of motion
creating – unc..."></div>
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