
She waits, and when the music starts to play,
she dances.
She moves in a very artistic way,
she dances.
The beauty just unfolds, as we sit and behold,
so very real, so very bold,
she dances.
Oil has been poured out for this,
she dances.
As if she has been filled with spiritual bliss,
she dances.
In movements that say, I was born to dance this way,
and so this gift goes on display,
as she dances.
This truly is a special form of art,
she dances.
We know that it is really from her heart,
she dances.
So powerful so real, this dance that we can feel,
with such beauty and appeal,
she dances.
I’m blessed, every time I get to see,
she dances.
For this one means a little more to me,
she dances.
For this beauty that is shown, is from one of my own,
and now the secrets known, my daughter dances.
H. S. I. By Charlotte B. Williams (c) 2015-20.
This poem is about the joy I felt when I found out my daughter Kelly was a dancer.
Vic
over 3 yearsI feel the same way every time I watched my daughter skate... When she retired I had withdrawal symptoms LOL.
Nice tribute. Nice poem.