It is dark at night.
Laden in the shoes closet,
A minute ago,
Just a pair of pluvious leather..
and hanging by the side,
a wet coat lactating beads,
like lone, forlorn pearls,
looking to frigid air's swarthiness,
and she switched on the light.
After so long
Switching on the same old song,
After a week's leave,
Sweeping the dust off ballroom floor,
Thinking of first dance's memories,
Replaying across her eyes..
"One-two one-two one-opps!"
Sheepish grin,
she stepped on daddy's foot,
"no, no,
you're not getting any ice-cream
until you get this right,"
He smiled, yet firm..
And fast-forwarding,
a few years on,
more than a decade later..
She forgot about her first place in competition,
went to New York to be an attorney,
forgo the only thing father left her,
The dancing shoes that gave her grace and life..
The old song plays on..
And so,
In the winter night,
She dried her eyes,
Trying to recall her steps,
Gradually dancing,
like once, in the first clap of the father,
like once, when she felt the sweet warmth
amidst the chatters and laughters,
Remembering the bliss when he said to mom,
"She danced like a pretty butterfly."
Moving with strength and grace,
while snowflakes fly,
a night spent dancing to the song,
'autumn night fireflies'.
