Where Dancers Used To Be

A silver stream trickles where dancers used to be
It leads to the lake, so full and blue
With a subtle silver glow, as if the moon left a trail
The forest that once surrounded
Has reclaimed what was her's
Tree's grow from the stone
Vines entangle the once white pillars
The gentle waves that break on the shore
Can be heard faintly, like the wind
That blows silently through the leaves
It makes patterns on the floor
The hall retains a faded beauty
It's almost something one can feel
The moonlight touches the ruins
Where dancers used to be