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.