Budding Ballerina Poem by Ernestine Northover

Budding Ballerina

Rating: 5.0

I was once a 'budding' ballerina,
With all the right outfits to wear,
There never was anyone keener,
I had point shoes and tutus to spare.

I was four and a half when I started,
Even remember my first big exam,
It's funny how some things just stick in your head,
I had to go in by myself, and leave Mam.

We'd practice so hard for our teacher,
Sometimes four or five times a week,
And although she was a bit of a preacher,
From us all, sheer perfection she'd seek.

At eleven, I travelled to London,
And danced in the Royal Albert Hall,
In the massive arena, we were called upon,
To perform. We hoped no one would fall.

As the audience were watching intensely,
At us children in costumes so rich.
Oh! How we enjoyed it immensely,
And it all went off without one hitch.

Now each time the hall comes on TV,
I'm reminded of when I was there,
An amazing experience, believe me,
Being under all that spotlight glare.

At eighteen, it ended, such regret,
I hung up my point shoes for good,
But I'll never forget, a great pirouette,
Or a plie, and I don't think I should!

© Ernestine Northover

Uriah Hamilton 16 January 2006

Every exciting breath from the past can usher in comfort if not new dreams.

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Sean Joyce 16 January 2006

Ernestine, what a great memory to have and enjoy. And to get to London you must have pretty good (Albert Hall?) anyway a lovely poem. Thanks, Sean

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Andrew Blakemore 17 March 2008

Thank you for sharing such a lovely memory. Andrew x

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Brian Dorn 04 January 2007

Ernestine, your poems always perform flawlessly... every word choreographed to perfection! Brian

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Shannon Chapel 29 January 2006

Nicely done. I can see it as if I were there! Shannon

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Duncan Wyllie 21 January 2006

I love it when people enter poems that carry real embers of their or someone elses warm fires. Thankyou Ernestine Love Duncan

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Mary Nagy 16 January 2006

I think Ballet is such an elegant dance........I have two left feet! How much you've done throughout your life! Another masterpiece Ernestine. Sincerely, Mary

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