Dance Poem by Anthony Martello
Dance
I put my hair into a bun.
To keep it nice and neat.
Lights on my face resemble the sun.
I say prayers for my feet.
My face is made-up,
large grin layered, too.
My dues are paid up,
my face, a scared hue.
I take my last walk.
A moment to collect my thoughts.
Not a second to talk,
I no longer feel distraught.
It is my turn to take my chance.
This is my turn, my turn to dance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 11:57:18 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I like this poem.10/10 from me! Thanks for sharing.