Days long ago, Sunday afternoons prepare
A dancer that none could compare
Moves like silk as if floating on air.
Burnt orange, brown tufts of patchy curly hair,
Sometimes dancing with a chair,
Matching vest, pork-pie hat he’d wear.
Family watching on careful steps rare,
Spins, bows, twists, and turns with flair,
So professional and debonair.
Perhaps a duet with his friend Clair
Or other toy chest mates like Javier,
Just me dancing with my Ted Astaire bear.
