The Ballerina by sheila todd moon

Pink slippers twirl on and on,

While the woodpecker brainstorms

a morning hymn,

Daylight lifts her shoulders

past the dawn,

The ballerina has been drilling all night,

She flaunts her skirts like whirl pools

So fast and bright,

The ballerina spins on tips

Of a carnation,

She triumphs on her nimble toes,

The day fixes his eyes

in the mist fragile music,

The backstage doze off in the shadow,

There is no sound, no Africa next door,

Just the pauses for breath

And roses drifting

with a hiss to the floor.

 

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