Nostalgia

In a dark, cold, murky corner,
Of my old slow-beating heart,
I have memoirs of sullen days,
I remember well on my own part.

I remember all the evenings,
Nights of silky soothing tunes,
Nights of muted drunken laughter,
Under singers’ raspy croons.

We would dance and we would bounce,
On the color-blocked bright floor,
Together and with one another,
We would swing to the music’s roar.

And when dancing was all over,
We would go back to our beds,
Until morn came by on Sunday,
And we’d still have jiving in our heads.

And back out again we’d still head,
Knowing dance would never die,
And I look back on these old times,
And I smile, and laugh, and cry.