Your Poem.

The Night we Danced with Cilla Black Cilla breezed into the Bella Piese Cafe with husband Bobby.

there was no mistaking her smile and vibrant red hair.

A full-length silver fox fur coat highlighted her trim frame.

This Scouser from Scotland Road she oozed class.

That night the music kept reverberating around the room.

Enchantment of bouzouki and drum and fiddle enhanced the air.

Soon those dancers were demonstrating their skill.

The Sirtaki started slow while personifying smooth action.

Later, that dance transformed into a vigorous one.

Those Greeks they were born with magic in their feet.

That night for sure, they kept showcasing their skill.

Incessant smashing of plates kept paying homage to the Gods.

Us women we didn't want to be upstaged by them.

We had to request that music from Kalamatiano. After Cilla joined us, we circled that dance with impeccable style.

Now whenever I recall that night in Liverpool, I'll drift for a while.

In my reverie appears, Priscilla Maria Veronica White.

She's the girl with a Lorra-lorra-laughter framing her face.

by Eileen Kyriacou

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