When I first saw her dancing
In the crooked-sided streets,
She was in the shape of a loaf of bread
Twirling in a wide spotted sheet.
I strutted up to her and we spun together,
A popsicle stick and the freshest of bread;
The stone buildings that encased us gyrated
With a slight wobble- I was eating the crust of joy.
Old tin cars seemed like the slats of a mill and we the hub,
While lonely voices rang out from the old wooden pub.