Dance of the Looking Glass

A poem for the ages

A poem for the ages

Photo by alevision.co on Unsplash

The bodies dancing near the stage
Are aged and bent
Misshapen form
But their smiles are wide
And hips are free
Despite eyes that won’t trouble
To hide their scorn

So many moons from when 
These dancers were born
And ridicule is a young man’s game
I sit, in the middle, 
An observer now
And wonder who should own thi…