I can dance,
not on flat floors planed and polished,
but fine in fallen forests ice demolished.
not at clubs where bass beats drone,
but in capers cross creeks rock by stone.
not with guiltless girls or wicked wenches,
but in reels with rivers when it rains inches.
not a polite polka or a winding waltz,
but in jigs and jaunts up snow vested vaults.
not a twirling twist or shirking shag,
but a fleet foot fox-trot technical toe drag.
not to irksome instruments or vain vocals,
but in animation to loquacious animal locals.
not in soft soled slips or oxford hard heels,
but I can dance deftly, reflection reveals.
