Would it be lying, said she, if I danced? said he.
And she nodded, in exasperation.
Dancing, said she, is atune to romancing, said she.
And you sir, are no artist at that.
But he looked in her direction, eyes sparkling in perfection,
And not for the first time she was lost for words.
It would be lying, said he, if I began denying, said he,
I am not curious at this that you mention.
But for the moment, said he, I'd rather dance with you, said he.
While you glare at me like I'm a fool in the making.
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