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by Garth Craven
In the beginning
was the Saturday Hop
and the twirling girl
with the gamine hair and the gingham dress.
And I'm standing at the sidelines of the swirling dancers
as they duck and dive and twist and twirl
to the oh so innocent rock and roll
before the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.
Out of all figures who spin and whirl
there's only you that I can see.
Spinning in and swirling out such a thread of sheer delight
as you wind wild patterns with your red-shoed feet.
I keep your image still bright today
and all of the others just fade away
as you dance in my mind at the Saturday Hop.