The studios have closed hours ago,
But the young ballerina remains,
Twirling and humming in the dark,
Her toes are swollen and bruised,
Limbs almost numb,
Sweat trickles down her forehead,
And tears down her cheeks,
She twirled a little more,
For the ballerina she loved most,
Her heart felt weak for a moment,
"This is for you Mama."
YOU ARE READING
Repertoire
PoetryThings I write in the middle of the night when I can't sleep or whenever I feel the need to put my heart into words. Poems•Prose•Short Stories•Artworks
