There's the grace that you must have,
he says and points at the dancer.
She spins and twirls, elegance,
an echo and a reflector.
That smile she wears steals your breath,
she is the description of beauty.
I could not steal that grace,
a thought that creeps across consiousness.
But it's done, like it always will,
and she falls, collapses.
Take her place, elegance incarnate,
and she quietly cries.
A pretty face, scarred with tears,
she tries to dance and fails.
Give it back, we can only borrow,
we cannot steal from the owners.
So she recieves the grace right back,
and once again is the dancer.