That's where I want to go,
Poised upon one magic toe,
Not a wobble, not a lurch,
Still as statues in a church.
Arms raised high and eyes cast low,
Dressed in feathers white as snow,
Not a flicker, not a shake,
Motionless beside the lake.
Round about the stage I'll glide
While the moonlit cygnets hide,
Not a stumble, not a sway,
I'll be there ON POINTE some day।