Dancing Dave

He has skin as dark as a southern night;
Like a summer cloud, his hair is white;
With a soiled white shirt, white pants, and gloves,
He speaks in riddles of the things he loves.
With a distant look in his tired eyes,
He’ll pause on his way with childlike surprise,
If you should happen to meet him by chance,
Respecting his choice, you should ask him to dance.
He may bum a smoke or ask for a dime;
If you don’t give them, he’ll still take the time
For a step or two, a mem’ry to save,
If you have the luck to meet Dancing Dave.

One of those guys that took less than he gave,
A dear child of God is ole Dancing Dave

©2012,

Stan Sanford