the ballet master

 

he has his pupils up at the barre

every blessed day working

here comes the stage mother

a dark horse shepherding her filly

a yard and a half of beauteous heft

the theater is sometimes rundown

rubbish conceals the sacred precincts in their cracking walls

the staff are burgeoning atmospheres of village fetor

still he takes his charges through their steps

from first to last for the edification of many

the enlightenment of some the glory of all