The Ballet - Poem by Daphne Grant
Round and round the dresses swirling
Arms now waving, as the scene mind
fed only begins to fulfil a dream
Tchaikovski planted there.
The Waltz of the flowers,
The music rises in happy expectation
The crescendo loudly crashes,
The dance is over.
The ballroom clears,
I am back in my living room.
The swirling dervish.
From remembered experience of playing Tchaikovski at My London Road Flat
Comments about The Ballet by Daphne Grant
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye