Here hang her old dresses, from a long time ago,
When dancing was all of the range.
Left alone and forgotten,
They’re what’s left of the good old days.
For the older she got, the more she forgot,
But those dresses always remained.
Tucked up in the wardrobe, all frills and fluff,
Always ready to whisk her away.
The day she died, and her whole body did sigh,
Those dresses they came back to life.
They began to shuffle, showing off their ruffles,
As they kept time to beat of the wardrobe.
They shimmied and hopped, not a move out of step,
all wiggling as she would have done.
A foxtrot, a charleston, oh! even a tango!
Those dresses remembered the lot.
Now many years on – her body long gone –
Those dresses remain in swing.
No dust can collect on the hem nor the trim,
For those dresses are dancing her jig.