She slips her delicate feet into your familiar leather,
A second skin,
She feels a rush of excitement and joy.

Your elastic wraps around her ankles,
Like a mother hugging her newborn baby,
And she stands up and begins to dance.

She prances around the room, all the worries in the world forgotten,
Pirouette, jeté, assemblé,
She goes, flying like a bird in a sky of music and melodies.

She is a doll in a music box, turning endlessly,
Moving to the rhythm,
Her feet guiding the way, cradled by baby pink.

She embraces the beat, plié, arabesque, fouetté,
And collapses to the floor as the music


Then into her silky satin bag you go,
where you lie waiting until you meet her feet again.