Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Tot’s opus

Waving his fists in rhythm,
He hit the perfect note,
Precisely moving his feet,
Impulsively trying to emote.

The sweet whisperings of music,
The choreography, his creation,
The emitting of the right sounds,
that displayed infinite elation.

A hop and skip, to the distance,
Tugging at an invisible drape,
A kneel here, a twist there,
Thus the routine takes shape.

Enthralled with himself,
Oblivious to watching eyes,
He was on his way to bliss,
And ready for the reprise.


  1. I could see a young tot playing his own music and being so proud of himself as I read your poem!


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