(Written November 18, 2003)
You dance so gently on a stage of feathers
And you tiptoe so softly, leaving only tiny wrinkles
as footprints in time
like a delicate ballerina in a crystal ball
encased by silence, a frozen beauty of awe
But the father of time can spin you around
and rewind the clocks, without a sound
And you can dance on and on…
but never take notice when your audience is gone.