His golden nails are tapping.
He awaits the future, greyly.
Bored of patience, forbidden from napping.
He ages more than anyone, daily.
She pirouettes each day, gorgeous.
Third in the nine-person dance line.
Her talents are enormous.
She's a little ill, but doing fine.
The nurse takes care of her wards.
She rules what her mistress creates.
Everyone and thing adheres to her laws.
She loves not, but never hates.
He looks at the nurse on the lovely sphere.
Taps his watch, keeps her in time.
The nurse's wards have learnt to hear.
Their technology is a mime.
The nurse and he have a special bond.
Ever since the dancer decided to bloom.
Of one another they are fond.
But sleep each in a separate room.