There’s an old lady with curled fingernails and proud wrinkles on her face. She has worn a vinyl record and a bird’s nest atop of her head, for all of her good life. The nest brings the music of the birds the vinyl gives her shade from the sun. She’s never thrown that vinyl on the record player She doesn’t need to, And that’s not what it’s for. And as the birds sing Dust comes off of the dancing shoes she wore when she fell in love with it all.