I put my hair into a bun. <br />To keep it nice and neat. <br />Lights on my face resemble the sun. <br />I say prayers for my feet. <br /> <br />My face is made-up, <br />large grin layered, too. <br />My dues are paid up, <br />my face, a scared hue. <br /> <br />I take my last walk. <br />A moment to collect my thoughts. <br />Not a second to talk, <br />I no longer feel distraught. <br /> <br />It is my turn to take my chance. <br />This is my turn, my turn to dance.<br /><br />Anthony Martello<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dance-40/
