Round and round she goes, twirling like a butterfly.
her graceful are leaps like the flight of doves,
all of the spotlight is on her, the remainder of the stage, a black void.
In their seats, they wonder – will she slip? Will she fall?
The tips of her toes, they barely scrape the stage
but she glides on it as effortlessly as a penguin on ice.
She looks magnificent, angelic -
her rose-blonde hair is in a bun, with white ribbon tied around the edge.
Her white and gold tutu and leotard clothe her like a princess
just as she dreamed when she was four.
Here, dressed like this and dancing her heart away
is when she only really feels alive.

