The BallerinaHer body resonates an electric charm.
She joins her wrists
and twirls.
Her footsteps tread
like dew on flower,
Her hair is dotted with pearls.
Each curve contoured,
the mirror reflects
her lithe limbs stretched
out-
Prettily poised, a Degas masterpiece-
waiting to be sketched.
Her silver skirt flares around
as she turns on her toes,
About and about.
And the world is a swirl of colour and light.
and it would have continued if it wasn't for that one night...
Her weary wheelchair passes her old studio -
Her balance and grace never faded-
Though she stopped dancing years ago.
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