If you ask a ballerina to dinner, it is likely she will politely agree.

And will say: Yay! And my fellow dancers too?

What will happen: Battements for two, demi plies for four.

You will lose count. In tutus, they do not score.

But spring and light and spin and stop

En pointe to the table from the floor they hop

Pink clad girls and black cat boys

Sit down together in one dear flop

And sigh they do like dreamers dreaming

Of Plates of pasta and bowls of bread

Of butter and sauces rich and red

Of cream and puffs on chocolate clouds

Balanced in arabesques, in rainbow shrouds.

Ensemble they dip napkins to knees

Look up to say, “Yes, more sauce please!”

Then minutes of silence tick tock and pass

Scenery changes and costumes, alas,

One beat, two beats, whirl and go,

But one little dancer stays just so,

And says, Mommy, that’s the end of my show….

For my youngest ballerina and our Tuesday and Friday drives to New Edinburgh to the School of Ballet where she practices many plies and our drive back where we often pass the Prime Minister going home and we wave.