Time to bow

Feathery light jumps.
The line of perfection.
Stretch every muscle, says she.
Shoulders down,push against the floor,
every move is pronounced.
An art it is-beauty of form,
yet a science-exact and calculated.

Graceful tension,
opposite directions,
defying what it is natural,
yet having to make it appear so.

Fast then slow, fast slow fast slow,
the beat, the rhythm, the pointe.
Look in the mirror, pick a spot,
and the pirouette is complete.
Discipline says she!

We must do the jump,
...it's time to bow,
seems like I've been doing this forever,
yet it's time to bow, it's time to bow,
but I've only just begun.
It's always been my dream, it's true,
and where this leads,
I do not know,
but thank you for my first
jete.