Music Box

She twirled around the abandoned hall; her perfect, movements fluid.
The yellow fabric of her dress rustling with every movement.
She danced to music none could hear.
Upon her toes she pranced,
light, buoyant,
memory locked deep inside,
brought to the surface only by the music.
Like her dress, her dark hair flowed,
glowing, shimmering
with deep red hues in the low lighting.
Her waves tamed only by a small tiara upon her brow.
Her fingers loose,
free of any partner’s hand,
and still she danced,
unceasing as the music played on.

The child watched,
her brown hair flowing down her back,
she watched the red headed dancer spin,
blue eyes tracing the perfect form,
dreaming as the music plays.
But the music begins to slow,
coming to a halt.
The young child sighs and closes the lid,
stopping the music.
In the absence of the music,
the beautiful dancer collapses,
falling to the abandoned dance floor in a heap.
Small fingers turn the dial, winding it again.
Slowly, those fingers lift the lid once more,
reviving the dancer,
the music box continuing to play entrancing tones
as the young girl stares into it,
dreaming.