The record sighed

Dreaming of a happier fantasy

Where trumpets blared

and pianos roared

and millions of rich-men shoes

tapped

themselves into oblivion

And there were ladies in

puffed sleeves

standing by the punch bowl,

giggling

with dance cards

And the littlest watched

through the banister

As the red-haired woman

laughed scandalously

slowly swaying

without rhythm

And her best friend

held her up and suddenly

the light was a little

too bright

And she breathed heavily

on his corsaged shoulder

“Air,” he told them. “She just needs air.”

So he took her out and sat her

under the willow

they used to climb on

And pretend they were

Pirates

Or Indians

And now they sat,

playing quite a different game

and he was shy and knew not

what to say

So he sat with her head on

His corsaged shoulder

holding her tight and wishing

He knew how to say her name

Just right.