Turning cartwheels

It does not matter for a moment.
To understand the words that swayed
the room, skipping ‘the light fandango’*
transported fifty years, a life so different.

A seventeen year old unawakened,
only stirred by the seven single
spinning, the poetry reaching right in
still, breathing this early morning in a
different century. Beyond the cartwheels
a new understanding.

© 2021 Copyright Rick Frame

*From the song, ‘A whiter shade of pale’ by Procol Harum

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