North Carolina ballerina,
sweet lady of the Piedmont,
she, so sterling,
died from the selfishness
of a drunk driver.
Gliding into a pirouette,
as she enters God's garden of youth.

The anguish tatters the sails
of my psyche,
we're heartbroken.
As the rain gently descends
from a sorrowing ash sky,
I drink the bitter taste of loss
from the goblet of the ages.

The dew glistens on the
peach-hued roses of
maiden innocence, as if
tears on infant's cheeks.

Our ballerina of grace,
death passes into life,
your beauty of a June
magnolia blossom charming
the angels who attend you.

Elena, Elena,
your lovely dancer's legacy,
still dwells in our midst.
Your name whispered
in summer's evefall starry
music. ~