Watching the breeze ruffle the petals of our Rose of Sharon blossoms, I thought how much they resemble the layers of delicate tulle in a ballerina’s tutu.
Ballerinas
Beside the lane, a quiet stage,
Where summer turns a graceful page.
In skirts of pink and mauve so deep,
The dancers waken from their sleep.
Upon the branch, they take their cue,
A ruffled froth of living tulle,
And pirouette on stems of green,
The fairest ballerinas seen.
A quiet leap, a spin of grace,
They bring a magic to this place,
And welcome every guest who nears,
With every tutu that appears.
They bow to the pavement, they bounce to the sky,
And blow a soft kiss to the folks passing by.
’Til next time, y’all…
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