Something in the way she moved her fingers as we spoke that day,
just a subtle movement but it seemed to melt the years away.
I asked if she'd been a dancer, she said "Yes, for most of my years.
When I was young I danced with bands that greeted ships down by the piers."
So many years have passed now since she danced in front of any bands.
Now she's sitting in a rocker, but she still has a dancer's hands.

We spent the afternoon together and I listened to her life unfold,
she said she'd been a dancer since she was only five years old.
She danced for luaus and parties and when the war came she danced for the troops,
married a soldier raised a family, but still found time to dance with local groups.
But now her legs are worn out, it hurts so when she stands,
so she sits in her rocker, but she still has a dancer's hands.

She danced for the President and overseas with the U.S.O.
She danced 'til her tired legs finally told her no....

Now the children call her Tutu as she rocks and sings them songs from her chair
and sometimes while she's singing one will ask to braid her long white hair.
They watch her hands so closely as she sings them the old Hula songs;
as she moves her hands so gracefully the children try to follow along.
She's teaching them a chant about Hana's beautiful Red Sands.
No, her dancing days aren't over yet, she still has a dancer's hands
No, her dancing days aren't over... she still has a dancer's hands.

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