Life’s
stories replaced with years of decay.
The
only signs that a life once flew,
Was
a torn ribbon and dirty ballet shoe.
In
my mind’s eye, I created once more,
As
I lay under clouds on the eastern shore.
I
dreamt of a little girl with rosy cheeks
Who
danced and danced for weeks and weeks.
And
as she danced, her golden hair flew
On
sand so white, and sea so blue.
The
king looked on as did his bride,
Their
hearts so warm and full of pride.
The
world rejoiced, the birds did sing,
And
after then, did take to wing.
To
spread the word, far and wide
Of
this precious dancing child.
