The Dancer's Daughter (II)

Poemata XCIII

Archival photo of ballet dancer, Australia

NO MORE A CARELESS CHILD she stands
To stretch and stoop with stillness bend
And bring a toe whose tip must meet
To make the perfect motionless;
    So gone the gay and graceless hours
    Of hardy tumbles telling why
    A wander in the wooded paths
    Must paint a leg in livid tones;
With thieving caution comes to take
The trifle of those tiny woes
Whose wonder wrought that willow's grace
Now gathered in her industry;
    And thus the dancer's daughter still
    In sureness of austerity
    With troth in proof of pedigree
    Must glance at me
And merely smirk.

Author’s note: This poem is a sequel to one written about ten years ago, of the same name:

A NATURAL ACROBAT, she knows moves
That no one has ever taught her
Lifted high as she behooves --
For she is the dancer's daughter
 When she could hardly walk yet
 She could make time with a step
 And grace in a tumble and totter
- And a smile in anyone she'd met.