Her Cossack Dancer
She lay outside the music box|
in one of those lacy ballet frocks.
A visiting child had damaged the spring
attached to the funny winding-up thing.
Her hair was tousled, tangled and soiled
and her pretty frock was torn and spoiled.
She tried to crawl back up to the box
but the lid was closed, as were the locks.
She lay on the floor of the cold, cold room
'til a whisper of music crept through the gloom.
A cossack dancer leaped to her side,
wiped a tear from her cheek, saying, 'Cheer up, my bride.'
To the box he jumped, still whistling his song,
she could clearly see he was very strong.
He opened the lid, no trouble at all.
Now she could see he was very tall.
Back he came and carefully lifted
the delicate dancer...my, he was gifted!
He carried her back to her place in the box
where modesty demanded he close the locks.
© 2012 cherryk
(All rights reserved)