Ronald Stuart Thomas

(1913 - 2000 / Cardiff / Wales)

The Dance - Poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas

She is young. Have I the right
Even to name her? Child,
It is not love I offer
Your quick limbs, your eyes;
Only the barren homage
Of an old man whom time
Crucifies. Take my hand
A moment in the dance,
Ignoring its sly pressure,
The dry rut of age,
And lead me under the boughs
Of innocence. Let me smell
My youth again in your hair.

Topic(s) of this poem: dance


Comments about The Dance by Ronald Stuart Thomas

  • (12/25/2014 4:33:00 AM)

    There is a sense of good poetry here. And the massage is understood. If one reads this with care, one gets what you are trying to convey with this try.

    I like it for the way you let us know wihtout being vulgar or dirty.
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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 25, 2014

Poem Edited: Thursday, December 25, 2014


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