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Form

Beauty found in matchless form
When dancers train their grace
Can lack the thrust of inner storm
That moves men from their place

Instead it invites cool applause
From those who know us not
For never will it give them pause
To take in what was taught

But those who waltz authentic stride,
Though lacking perfect frame,
Will aid their fellow men inside
To dance there none the same

While perfect steps may leave one awed,
They seldom birth a shift
But fear’s bold-spoken promenade
Can yield a matchless gift.
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