Oh, To Be a Ballerina
She confided in me that
she always wanted to be
a ballerina, dancing gracefully
across polished floors, her tutu
swirling around her lithe body,
the danseur lifting her effortlessly
high into the air.
She sighed a heavy sigh as
we started walking down the
stairs of the Opera House.
Suddenly, my delicate danseuse
slipped on her new cowboy boots
and not so gracefully grabbed
me to save herself from
an unchoreographed fall.
She confided in me that
she always wanted to be
a ballerina, dancing gracefully
across polished floors, her tutu
swirling around her lithe body,
the danseur lifting her effortlessly
high into the air.
She sighed a heavy sigh as
we started walking down the
stairs of the Opera House.
Suddenly, my delicate danseuse
slipped on her new cowboy boots
and not so gracefully grabbed
me to save herself from
an unchoreographed fall.
photo courtesy of: http://flickr.com/photos/tjunkie/2044225222/
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1 comment:
what a great poem! i love your writing.
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