There is a langue known by many
Spoken by few
I know the hidden langue.
Silent as the depths of night
Silent dancers in plain sight
Looping
Twirling
Whirling
Dancing fingers looping out of sight
Faces smile
Fingers move
Some move quickly fast and smooth
Others jerky fresh from school
Old hands stiff
And fresh hands bold
Every had has a story to be told
My finger pause still unsure
Lisping stuttering freshly born
Though they are of sixteen years
My talking as not even been a year
And so I watch and wait and learn
And let my fingers gaily turn
As I too learn the hidden langue