I miss old ways in past years,
Those old nays and crude yeas.
I crave for the meal I never ate;
Yearn so much for a feel I never met.
I miss soft tapping finger tips,
Strapped swinging held swaying hips,
Swishing feet on glittering marbled floors,
Flowing gowns, paired feet in coupled fours.
I miss good music guided by tiny sticks,
Quiet audiences in silent peace that reeks.
And when they dance, its like a mute hymn,
Tapping away on hard soles, following a rhythm.
I miss husky sleepy humming lullabies,
With honest night stories full of nice lies.
I miss trained hands on black and white ivory keys,
And the sweet old past would ever numb all knees.
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