The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive


a dancer stand without a sound
her feet are there, they reach the ground
everything that can be found
are made by dancer on her mound
a dancer sit with many noise
his arm are up, like little boys
everything appear like toys
by dancer played with many joys
two dancer lie upon an earth
their body still, of death no dearth
everything come up like birth
pushed out by dancers happy mirth
if you my babe do want to dance
stand sit and lie, let circumstance
reach down to ground where they in trance
do sit and lie, their life enhance

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