I was sitting in my hard plastic chair contemplating about a topic for my poem, but I heard faint music in the room. It got louder and louder and suddenly there were a dozen dancing ballerinas that filled the classroom.
“Where did they come from?” everyone whispered. “Over there!” someone yelled, pointing to a blank painting hanging on the wall. We watched as they graciously twirled, jumped, and leaped in and out of the rows of desks, and all over the room. Their movements were like that of a feather; light, airy, and beautiful. Edgar Degas, their creator, was looking on from a distance, very pleased with what he has made of them. But then, the music got lower and the ballerinas filtered back into their painting, never to return again. “Okay class,” the teacher said, “back to your poems!” Then it came to me, I’ll write about a dozen ballerinas that danced throughout the classroom.