Poem - Postcard To Ma...

My Wooden Legs

Look at me Ma,
look at the way I move,
I can dance now, like Pa,
my legs ain't no longer made of wood.

I dance a lot,
but I do it alone,
I know I ain't hot,
but I'm sure well known.

At home I'm call wooden legs,
that's a'coz I couldn't dance,
but now I never take breaks,
from my midnight chants.

No one can keep up with me,
they call fast Lance,
with that I have to agree,
no couple could outshine me in any dance.

I keep cloths clean white,
white as pearl too,
coz when I'm dance with all my might,
I shine like the moon.