Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Ballerina



Look at my hands
they used to be pretty,
and I,
I used to dance.

No ballet any more,
just often aching, sore.
Such is age, and honest work.
Never have been one to shirk,
my Role.

But Oh to dance would be so fine.
To live the music one more time.
Before it all
when dreams were mine,
and now?

Now I dance my journey Home.
Step by Step towards the Throne.
Where Jesus stands, and I will fall.
The Final Curtsey of them all.
Before my Lord,
my Love
my King,
and I
shall Dance
as Angels sing,
Anew.

Elizabeth

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