God chose me to go a different path,
to die in the arms of love.
To die at the feet,
of one who's eye's are pure,
and preached his humbleness.

She did not speak often.
Her lips need not, for her
body could talk.
Her lips dipped in the reddest
of all wines of the vineyard.
Figure so long.
Gentle but never frail.
She was grace,
in the purest form.

My heart was fatal,
but she,
she wore beauty as a shade of happiness.
A color not known by the human eye.  
Her body moved,
how it moved to a twinkle.
She spun me off my two knees.

With the cross of a ribbon,
and a finger of rouge to the cheek;
I was ready.
I prayed.
I pleaded
For my fragile heart to morph.
She flew.
She danced about my soul, and before the eyes of heaven..
I did could not imagine a death any greater..
than one of a love for my ballerina.