Pachelbel, Canon in D Major

Swift as the wind that brushes by my face
Gentle as the feather that floats down
Touching my face ever so softly

The ballerina's skirt swirls
the riples ever so gently
as the swan graces over the peaceful lake.
Her face speaks of no smile
but her eyes gleam with gem's rarity
the serenity that needs no smiles.

Joy unto her gliding arms
Her slender legs hides the strength
Vigor rises within her twirls
All synchronised with the rythm of planned music
Perfection lies within her leaps
through the imperfections of falls begotten
but not forgotten.

Cool are the raindrops
they trickle down my face
Calm are the clouds
the Stallion in my dreams
the gentleness that speaks of strength
their patience of recurring Faith.