My Ballerina

She’s a spinning stick, collecting fairy floss
as it goes.
She sounds like the leaves brushing
against the wind.
She looks like an opal stone glistening
in the sunlight.
She is a ballerina.
My ballerina.

Stored in a wooden box
she shares her beauty by dancing
with a song
a song as graceful as a swan.
She is a ballerina stored in a music box.
My music box.