swan lake

Quite the ballet of bugs with long legs, graceful the Ront de jambe,
the grands battements upon the surface as if the lake a trampoline.
Royale, petit Jeté, the glide along floor until demi-hauteur.
Assemblés are complete petit or grand, even en tournant,
all finely choreographed as only nature can.

Lifts and spins, tossed Ballotté and Brisé vole, as if all will be fair,
this their tour en l’air. Those legs, each long as a mile, gentle
even in double cabriole, graceful in Croisé. This is significant stuff,
no slapstick for laughs and the show will last at great cost,
but with great reward.

Here is the love of life and of justice upon the ongoing lake.
Here is something made, something always to make.
Surely, there is heartache, carrying away of the dead at scene set,
something we might just miss or may never expect as sun exits.
Is what it is. Death is just the clearing away the stage instead.

Virtuoso or Corps de ballet, the performers work fast.
And so very soon, the new young are ready for their chance.
Life moves. Quickly worn are the shoes, hopefully well used.
So go our lives upon the lake,
together in this tour de promenade.

Published by Other People's Flowers, 2019

Written by Joe Bisicchia on 31/03/19
© 2019 Joe Bisicchia

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love, life, sun, Death, nature, people, work, flowers

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