Tapping your toes inside your shoes
Sitting on the bus just listening to blues.
Your secret rhythm, no one else knows,
Hidden in the leg gloves, performed by toes.
Smiling at the hidden dance, quite pure joy,
The shoe acting as the horse of troy.
That on its own is quite a sweet thing,
But, if you happen to notice someone else sing,
Or even do their own little tap,
It’s like noticing someone else take a nap.
You like napping, so do they,
Instant connection kept at bay
Only by the rules we set ourselves,
Us and our silly little shyness elves.