The Dancer - Poem by Cory Ruda
There before me the Dancer Begins.
Fans of white paper accent the untainted ivory of the hands clutching them,
As her movements slip seamlessly together,
a halo the color of night appears,
a flowing river of the Dancer's raven locks.
She is Beauty; She is Perfection,
Yet I know that She can never be taken,
Never be held, or She would never dance again.
Her footsteps will never be silenced.
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