A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
Pirouette and plie and twirls in the air
All landed on grinding and shifting stone.
The wind blew
To ruffle her tutu
And the remaining rain stained the silk ribbon protecting her toes.
The song was loud –
The tempo rough as a storm,
But she chased each note away
With the grace and power
Of a ballerina in command of the orchestra and all who were witness.
The wind, the rain, the song,
All danced to follow her lead.
The stage stood wherever she did,
The music played whenever she moved.
Her soul performed with the world.