John F. McCullagh
He’d offered her his hand to dance
Politely, she’d declined.
“I have promised many others,
-perhaps another time.”
He accepted this with all good grace-
“Perhaps another time,
When your dance card is nearly full,
The last dance shall be mine.”
The night was young and she was fair,
Men clamored for their chance.
In some eyes she saw routine lust,
In others- true romance.
Her card was signed by many
There remained a single line.
She stopped back at her table
for a final cup of wine.
The dark and handsome stranger
was waiting for her there.
She took his hand without protest
as he rose up from his chair.
He led her to the dance floor
as the band played one last time.
The music was a stately waltz
done in three quarter time.
His arms were strong and masterful
as he led her in the dance
Her will seemed to desert her
as she fell into a trance.
In the half light she looked up
And searched his face and eyes
The eyes of Death looked back at her,
In lust for her demise..
Swept up in her dance with Death,
She uttered not a sound
for she was in his power now.
and destined for the ground.
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