When She came from the Hills, She was dressed to the nines.
When He saw Her in heels, He thought quickly of lines.
As They met on the floor, They briefly locked eyes.
He looked down--brave no more, He no longer had rhymes.
He knew She was the One--was what He always had sought.
But He was coming undone and like in a battle hard fought,
He had only seconds before She moved miles apart.
So He looked to the door, and with seconds left in His heart,
He bowed to Her stance and looked to the night of the June,
A Poetic Gesture to Dance underneath the bright, lovely moon.