Broken Toe Waltz

Often I waltz on a cursed and a broken toe,
Scraping the clapboard around the old rocking chair.
Picture a bright and ruined mock allegro so
Bold and almost, as seen, begging to suck in air,

I’m like that spinning asunder on grace’s keep.
Music from vents, up from below, lowly as piss,
At my hour dancing can require a steady creep.
Imagine anyone who catches a look of this!

But I will dance through tomorrow and after that
Too. Where my way is made bold and a little bruised,
Where my form forgives my feeble, overtly flat
Rhythm, my moves on a river of knowledge ruse

Any advanced baroque or a simple ballet when shown
Outside of my home, which is why I dance alone.