Fitger's Ballerina Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

Behold those blue eyes that blush under a millinery,
A silhouette weaved of mulberry silk and moly,
A sleeping beauty that fissures to birth la prima ballerina assoluta,
A callow progeny of Margot Fonteyn.

Western winds afresh the pink granite cirque of Pikes Peak,
Zephyrs pirouette over the garden of the gods,
A ballerina arabesques towards Barr trail,
Switchbacking bourrée en couru through the colorful flora, waving pines and lake spotted valleys.

Oh how I envy the headless horseman of Tarrytown and the peculiar character of its inhabitants,
The hubris and arrogance of Hessian troops that lay there bayonets for magical broomsticks.
To honor Giselle.
To honor the queen.

At age four I skittered into the limelight,
with a long tulle dress and spry expression.
Crowned the harvest queen among the nobles,
to dance wildly and restively through the vineyards of Sauternes.

Now an adolescent in search of love
I travel the world as The dying Swan,
To break the curse of Rothbart,
Two swans fly past a setting moon,
A wise owl gifts a princely crown,
only to have true ardor resurrect from a deluge.

Oh Anna Pavlova your daintiness and fragility are your godsend reward,
Yet fifteen adopted girls you sheltered under a Parisian sky give you flight.
You are Paquita, the gypsy queen,
You touched the heart of Ruth Page.

Now a midlander in the beautiful land of sweets,
Ruled by a sugar plum fairy does Sarah come home.
Home to Lake Superior where tinder snowflakes light her soul and pronounce Une fête de Noël daily.

For she is the protagonist of silence.
She is the soul of sleepy hollow.
She is an embodiment of En l'air.
A gift from the garden of the gods.