The last dance is mine to share

In a room where shadows dance with light, An old-style piano, black and white, Stands sentinel in the fading glow, Where memories of love and loss do flow.

There sits a lady, her fingers poised, On ivory keys, her soul exposed. Her touch, a whisper from times gone by, Plays out a tune that makes you cry.

The melody of “The Last Dance is Mine,” Drifts through the air, like vintage wine, Each note a step, a twirl, a sway, In the dance of life, where moments fray.

Her hair, a cascade of silver threads, Matches the music’s silvery threads. Eyes closed, she’s lost in the rhythm’s embrace, In the quiet room, in that sacred space.

The tune, it speaks of love’s last stand, Of dances shared in twilight’s hand, Of laughter, tears, and whispered farewells, Of silent stories only night retells.

As the final note begins to fade, The room holds breath, in silent parade, For in her music, time stands still, The last dance hers, with heartfelt skill.

So she sits, a maestro of the heart, Playing tunes that life and love impart, In this old world where music reigns, Her melody forever remains.

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