Ballerina Dreams

I was a ballerina once upon a childhood dream,
I floated oh so gracefully – a dancer of esteem.
My arms arched in true elegance; my toes a perfect point,
my step, so clearly captivating, couldn’t disappoint.

I wore a splendid tutu and fine soft silk satin shoes,
my hair pulled back so tight revealed strong features, vibrant hues.
Pink tights defined the power of a nimble dancer’s limbs,
upon my head a crown was sprinkled with rich diamond trims.

Tchaikovsky was entrancing as he played sweet agonies,
the audience enchanted by his grand lush melodies.
Such unreserved emotion formed in this great master’s head,
and I a whirlwind danced in it until my worn feet bled.

Then I fell down exhausted and could not dance as before,
not even to Tchaikovsky’s most impressive ballet score.
But time’s an endless healer and a truly mighty muse;
once more that prima donna wears those soft silk satin shoes.

Copyright © 2009 Norma Martiri

Form: Quatrain


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