Budding Ballerina Poem by Ernestine Northover

I was once a 'budding' ballerina,
With all the right outfits to wear,
There never was anyone keener,
I had point shoes and tutus to spare.

I was four and a half when I started,
Even remember my first big exam,
It's funny how some things just stick in your head,
I had to go in by myself, and leave Mam.

We'd practice so hard for our teacher,
Sometimes four or five times a week,
And although she was a bit of a preacher,
From us all, sheer perfection she'd seek.

At eleven, I travelled to London,
And danced in the Royal Albert Hall,
In the massive arena, we were called upon,
To perform. We hoped no one would fall.

As the audience were watching intensely,
At us children in costumes so rich.
Oh! How we enjoyed it immensely,
And it all went off without one hitch.

Now each time the hall comes on TV,
I'm reminded of when I was there,
An amazing experience, believe me,
Being under all that spotlight glare.

At eighteen, it ended, such regret,
I hung up my point shoes for good,
But I'll never forget, a great pirouette,
Or a plie, and I don't think I should!

© Ernestine Northover