Of accordion pleats and laces,
Tho' she cannot dance, if she spin and prance,
Is numbered among the Graces.
For heel and toe our hearts can glow
And the feats of the rhythmic clog,
And a poem of motion wells forth in the notion
Of a Serpentine Dancing Dog.
But the dancer's art, of her life a part,
A song of the wordless soul
With a tale to tell, like the music's swell,