I have waited for the day 

That I could dance with you,

When my turn could come around,

And I find as I reach for your hand,

I don't stand as well as I did when I was young.

I lean rather hard and heavily on the table.

Slowly I'm able to move to the ballroom floor.

But will my feet know the steps anymore?

And will they be fit to make them?

Maybe I should have danced everyday

By myself at home alone

While I waited,

Then maybe now I would be ready,

Or maybe I wouldn't have needed

This day to come,

Afterall.

-jenn