Crimson drains from a bottle,
A glass raised to a mother’s lips,
It rushes down her throat like a stream,
She sits to observe a performance.
Beep!
The video camera sounds,
A small face flushes,
A child flutters into her own fantasy.
Chairs shoved aside,
Silly diddies float from his mouth,
A hand offered,
A waltz begun.
1-2-3, 1-2-3,
As the counts go,
Step by step,
Around the room,
To a non-existent melody.
A small voice squeals,
A grandfather’s chuckles escape,
A memory etched in time,
And who is ever the wiser?
In loving memory of my grandfather...
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