Back when I was a young girl,
Daddy taught me how to dance.
It seems like a lifetime ago
that my tiny feet rode atop
Daddy’s well-worn cowboy boots.
Polkas, two-steps, waltzes,
The Cotton Eyed Joe,
and The Sweetheart Schottische -
Daddy taught them all to me.
Waltzes were always my favorite.
With my small hand held tight
in Daddy’s work-hardened hand,
I’d pretend I was a ballroom dancer
gracefully gliding across the dance floor.
To insure I wouldn’t forget,
Daddy would chant out the steps:
one, two, three, one, two, three.
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