I placate Night's ungainly stars by judging
Their lumbering waltzes, clumsy pas de chat
Mistakes in pivots, entrechat not springing
I stretch their aching legs before battement
Ten eons past, they showed off pink-sheen tights
Their pointed toes first cracking fresh peach leather
A bunch with coiled blonde hair that bounced like kites
When bounding in glissade, a youthful valor
It's hard to think that stars grow old and tire
That pirouettes are for the bright and bushy-tailed
Immortal as I am, my wish is far too dire
To ask from changing stars who now have failed
To grow in age what once was lost in youth
A passion for precision, a higher attitude