You are majesty, I think, <br />The belle of the ball, <br />All eyes are on you, <br />As you walk into the room. <br /> <br />You flow through the air, <br />Almost gliding, its so easy for you, <br />Its as if it comes naturally; <br />The thing that others long to perfect. <br /> <br />Your long, silken, red dress, <br />Flows like the rays of Dawn, <br />Deep, firey reds, <br />Conjoined with burnt orange, <br />Shimmers in the light. <br /> <br />They all stand in awe, <br />As you move about the room, <br />With your counterpart, <br />The perfect Gentleman. <br />Speechless, as you perform your dance. <br /> <br />And as the years go by, <br />Time is not so kind to you, <br />Your skin begins to wither, <br />Your bones become weak, <br />You become frail, <br />A shadow of your former self. <br /> <br />You sit and reminisce, <br />About the old days, <br />About your fall from grace, <br />And how one day, maybe, <br />You'll meet him again in heaven, <br />And you'll dance like you did then.<br /><br />Steve Armstrong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fallen-2/
