Poem -



Oh the ‘Raz-ma-taz of this character tip, tap dancing to the blues in his perfectly pin-striped suit with his black patent-leather shoes

As he struts along the broadwalk  catching all the ladies glances rhythmatically tapping his feet to his musical romances

Such an air of chic refinery with a dash of debonair, he has every woman captivated in a longing, transfixed glare

Whilst he bops to  ‘Mr bojangle’
as the musicians follow his beat
he fills the floor with dancer’s on that fancy, French Boulevade street

One....two....three...four.... brushstep, shuffle........shuffle
tappety...taps, emphasizing the drummer’s soft strokes with his hands click, clackerty claps

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