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The Last Waltz
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General She was thirty-eight the year her father died.
The rhythm of the band consumed
him, and she asked him to dance.
"I was dancing with my darling
to the Tennessee Waltz..."
It was the first time she had seen him
dance since her wedding.
His hands were strong,
the hands of a fisherman;
smoothe, the hands of an educator.
They renewed their bond that day,
a bond that would transcend
time and distance.
It was their last waltz.
I have an idea that, wherever he is,
he is telling someone,
"Wait 'til you see my daughter
dance."
