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I used to dance
stamp my feet at great speed
as a child
in our local Greek taverna –
people even threw money apparently

I used to sing
Elton John at the top of my voice
to the copse of trees
in the back field –
and I knew they heard me

But used to returns sometimes
so I dreamt I danced
down a crowded pavement
to a melody of whispered,
‘She knows! She knows!’

They called a meeting, the whisperers,
convened in a caravan that appeared
by the side of the road
(as these things do, sometimes, in dreams)
just they three and me

‘You do realise, young lady,’
said one
‘what watching you
could do to people.’
I blushed and pulled a face

an eloquent look of,
‘And your point is?’
– for my face and eyes dance too,
you see – but I said,
‘I know what you mean.’

We were going to take
the world by storm,
give it a dangerous shot of hope
danced with a joy that’s free
and fearless – but I woke up

and my first thought was to wonder
why they’d called me young,
for I’m not, you see.
I’d forgotten to ask the whisperers
in the dream