Her world and ours forever turning.
The pretty ballerina inside.
At the lift of a lid.
She slowly opened her eyes.

Oh dear, the music.
Always soft and soothing.
Her graceful look.
Pirohuettes so moving.

Stuck in another world.
Looking in on mine.
She stood the same to every emotion.
Her faith the test of time.

Tiny dancer, sprung to life.
Everytime my box was in use.
She at one with the world.
An invisible truce.

I look past her.
Into the mirror on her wall.
I see my face and I see her dance.
Her body seems so small.

But her world and mine
Are so small.
So we must be alike.
But with no likeness at all.

She always turns her happy face.
She never misses a beat.
Until she finally comes to a stop.
Like how ive come to my defeat.
____