Sonnet for an Aging Dancer

Youth certainly is wasted on the young.
Pert breasts squeezed higher than painted smiles,
Calculating dips and turns to score piles
Of points around the sprung floor lift and spun.
Last year's fading winners curse the fit youth
As sambas turn to tangos passioned grip,
Around the judging tables gossip slips
"There's talk of retirement, long in the tooth"

The winner's crown slips greedily to the new,
Whose victory is poison to the dreams,
Of dancing one more National, or World Cup.
Orange tan fading pale and make-up skewed,
Stifling the aches and pains with muffled screams;
A sad tale of dancing shoes now hung up

(14 line sonnet following abbacddc efgefg pattern)