Sitting on the porch
Reclined in a wicker chair bearing the signs of it's age
I stare wistfully into the garden
Watching the grass, watching the flowers
Dance, Dance, Dance
They sway to the rhythm of the wind
I marvel at the leaves holding valiantly against nature
I see the dying leaves lose their battle with mother nature
They let go, flutter, swoop, drift to the ground
Their dance so beautiful yet so tragic
Dance, Dance, Dance
This is their final dance
Smooth and slow
Forever tumbling to the ground
Dance, Dance, Dance
This is the final dance
Salvadore Ponce de Leon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
dance is the highest peak of expression