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Our little dance
You be the music,
And I'll be the song,
It's a sweet joyous tune,
And we'll sing along.
Then take my hand,
And together we'll dance,
Tip toes and twirls,
Through each song we'll prance.
Little lights will hang,
From every possible place,
Love hangs in the air,
As our hearts start to race.
And on the song played,
Just like twinkling lights,
That sparkled and danced,
Into the night.
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"Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth isn't." Mark Twain