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The Dance MAG
I always watched my parents dance.
 I can barely remember a time
 When
 My mother,
 Fluid and graceful,
 Would caress my father's cheek in her hand.
 My father
 Would embrace her
 And with strong, steady footsteps
 Guide her across the dance floor 
 Of life.
 He would spin her 'round and 'round
 She looked like a graceful swan
 Twirling in her ruffly white dress.
 He would let her spin, enthralled
 By her beauty.
 And he loved her.
 
 But I can clearly remember the time
 She spun farther and farther away
 Until he was clasping her fingers
 Trying to hold on
 His face echoing his frustration
 But she wouldn't come back.
 Finally
 In anger
 My father let go
 And stalked off the dance floor
 Saying, 
 “I can't do this anymore.”
 My mother
 Stumbled and fell
 And looked at me
 With hollow,
 empty
 eyes.
 A fallen swan now.
 
 I look away
 Close my eyes
 And try to remember
 The beginning of the dance. 
 Only to find
 I can't.

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