What does the ballerina do,
When everything aches,
What does the salsa dancer do,
When her costumes,
Dont feel the same,
What does the painter do,
When the gardens,
And mallards fly away,
What do the singers do,
When the songs,
Are caressed in symphony,
What do the stars do,
Through the evening rain,
And the nightingales,
Through the bass,
Of the maples,
Sighed,
They relax through the rain,
And the seasons,
They shine and glimmer,
Even in shimmers
Reynaldo Casison