Nothing will ever as lovely be As a ballerina is to me.
For she can glide in graceful pose Across the stage on pointed toes.
Her body strong with muscled power Her form is perfect as a flower.
Even in view of my old age I dreamt of a moment on stage.
Secretly within my heart did yearn An opportunity ballet to learn.
I felt so lucky in Sun City to find A ballet class for just my kind.
But soon I learned my body won't listen Ere long with sweat my body glistens.
MM reminds us to practice turn out I try and try but in creeps deep doubt.
All must be perfect including plie, Pirouette, pique, and pas de bouree.
But MM smiles and says toes to point. Just ignore the ache in your joint.
She says, "Today we will master tour jete." We look at each other and think no way.
We do learn sous-sus by the school of Cecchetti But wait, I'm confused. Did she say spaghetti?
I practice and practice the porte de bras. To me, it seems an enormous jigsaw.
I won't quit. I'll try to remember. Truly though, I should just surrender.
MM corrects, "Put your feet just so. This, by now, you really should know.
And just a reminder, it need not be said, Arms must be perfect and, please, tilt your head.
Don't forget your abs to engage Balance issues thus to assuage.
With toes pointed, kick high as a mile. And at all times, remember to smile.
Step in time and never be rushed. Of course, a tutu cannot be crushed.
Class, do not the choreography change. I simply cannot accept something strange.
Remember all the things to be done And, by the way, be sure to have fun."
Perhaps in this ode lies one simple fact Learning ballet may not be my act.
Maybe next year I'll set a new goal With a little less work, I could bowl!
Wanda Lane is the author of "Wrinkles in Paradise." She lives in Sun City Hilton Head with her husband and their dachshund, Wolfie.