The Last Ballerina

The Last Ballerina

And there’s no grave my love
That wasn’t this heart a grave all along?
Dreaming with death and fantasy weddings

And hoping to arrive at last
At life’s banquet, with her evening cup!
And there’s no end my love

That wasn’t this spirit an end in itself?
With faith enough in things unseen
To arrive with langhter at the end

And ask with a common smile
Was it enough? “What is enough?”