The best of dancers ruined by a host
of other loves that to the heart may call.
Some choices must be made or not at all.
The dance too brief ; the song may end for most
and fly away from splendor of romance.
Crescendo reached and still the dance she owns.
Life is too short to settle, oh, for less.
Eshoo the heart; don’t make the dreadful choice!
Her soul now hovers. Grief is like a plow
that pushes every goal to here and now.
(Was watching the Movie, “The Red Shoes” when I wrote this. The agony of being forced to make a choice between two over-whelming loves can drive one mad.)