Special thanks to Evgeniya Stafeeva for the featured image featuring her son, Lucas Letihon. It happens to fit my poem quite well.

In a realm where grace and beauty meet,
Where dancers move with light and fleet,
There stands a boy, so fair and bright,
At the ballet barre, in soft moonlight.

His every move, a work of art,
A symphony that warms the heart,
With tender limbs and pointed toes,
He weaves a dance that overflows.

His body, supple, like a willow’s bend,
His spirit, fierce, yet kind, and mend,
In every plié, a tale unfolds,
Of dreams, of passion, in dance he molds.

With hands that trace the air like wings,
He leaps and twirls, in fluid rings,
His eyes, a mirror of the stars,
Reflect the depth of his memoirs.

He pirouettes in dappled light,
A creature born of day and night,
A son of grace, the world can see,
A balletic deity, so free.

Each tendu, a whisper to the breeze,
Each arabesque, a moment seized,
In grand jeté, he defies the ground,
An earthly soul, by dance, unbound.

At the barre, where dreams take flight,
He dances through the silent night,
A creature made of hopes and fears,
A wondrous boy, beyond his years.

In every plié, a soul laid bare,
In every sauté, a silent prayer,
For on the stage, he finds his voice,
An ethereal being, his own choice.

The ballet barre, his sacred space,
Where elegance and strength embrace,
He dances on, his spirit high,
A graceful boy beneath the sky.

And as he moves, the world stands still,
In awe of his unyielding will,
To dance, to soar, to touch the sky,
A graceful boy, forever nigh.

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