I am a lonely lighthouse keeper.
I polish my lamp and knit each day.
Up and down the spiral stairs I tread.
Then I practice my lovely ballet.

A tablecloth, dungarees, and a tutu.
I’ll hang them on the rail around the lamp.
I’ll watch for snow or torrential rain.
I certainly don’t want my tutu damp.

It sure takes its toll being a lighthouse keeper,
Going round and round in circles each and every day.
Just for a change sometimes I walk round backwards,
In the hope of seeing myself coming the other way.

The mind plays tricks on those who are lonely.
It has them thinking about impossible things.
Like could I actually fly if I jumped from the balcony,
And flapped and flapped a pair of artificial wings?

Monthly I get a visitor with provisions for my larder.
We enjoy a cup of tea before he heads off once more.
Still, I have my new provisions to unpack and arrange.
Another hour used, perhaps now I’ll mop the floor.

Once again it’s time for my solitary ballet practice.
Chest out, chin up, feet spread wide,
Pirouette, arabesque, fingers pointing,
Plié then Chassé, but glide don’t slide.

I know I’m improving. I’m keeping time with music.
My transitions are smoother. I’m much more supple.
Sadly, I only have a mirror with which to share my moves.
Another lighthouse keeper and we’d be dancing as a couple.