The dancer's shoes lay alone,
Arms wrapped around their bodies in a deep sleep,
That fell upon them like a heavy cloak.
Yet still there is a rigidity,
That remains poised and ready for action
Waiting for the master's hand
To prick them from their resting spot,
Their pale pink flesh seems to move,
For the spirit can always be seen,
By those aware to the art.
And when lovingly they are taken,
Molded to a delicate foot to become one
Strengthened being, they retain that spirit
Awakened, they stretch and groan,
Announcing their prescence with joy.
This is what they live for,
With the strength of a bodybuilder,
These muscle-men disguised as princesses,
Bear the load, jumping and spinning,
Until once again they return to slumber,
Arms wrapped around tightly,
Savoring the spirit of it all.