With tears in her eyes she dusts off her old satin ballet slippers.
In darkness she gracefully dances once more;
Pointed toes grace finely polished wooden floors.
She is not broken;
She is not too old;
She is not cast away.
If she had danced in front of an audience they would have cried.
She composes a wonderful poem with her movements;
Her ballad is beautiful; my god, it’s beautiful.
In silence, only her movements can be heard;
She dances to the song in her heart.
Fluid movement; She flows … she is a river.
The twinkling stars give thunderous applause.