the dance hall

there is no music
coming from the hall.
although there once
was. and people would
dance, and fall in
love. but that was
a long time ago.
now the doors are
closed, the windows
boarded up, the people
who once came are old,
or gone. but in the
wood there are names,
etched with pen knives
on the rail,
of molly and sam,
of joan and joe, of
others who danced
the night away, and
the dates are inscribed
too. lightly in the
stained wood, so many
dancers that have come
and gone. and then
there's me and you.