| To try and glimpse this prima ballerina, Watch when night birds sing their haunting tune. A pirouetting graceful ballet dreamer, Dancing in the spotlight of the moon. |  |
Her grand entrée she makes with great aplomb,
Then ‘cross the surface of the stage she glides.
From pad to pad she skips and hops along,
Surrounded by her sparkling fire flies.
At last she rises up on pointed webs,
And pauses like a statue, picturesque,
Dressed in a tutu spun from spider threads,
She holds a dazzling perfect arabesque.
No other theatre holds a ballerina
As keen or green as Prima Frogallina.
Poem ©2013 George Kirk
Image ©2013 Paul Morton
Then ‘cross the surface of the stage she glides.
From pad to pad she skips and hops along,
Surrounded by her sparkling fire flies.
At last she rises up on pointed webs,
And pauses like a statue, picturesque,
Dressed in a tutu spun from spider threads,
She holds a dazzling perfect arabesque.
No other theatre holds a ballerina
As keen or green as Prima Frogallina.
Poem ©2013 George Kirk
Image ©2013 Paul Morton
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