Who is Ani? I know.

A dancer dances...
In her heart,
In the images in the mist of tears that cloud my eyes.
But her body is not her own.
A singer sings...
In her heart,
In the echoes of happier times that fill my ears.
But her voice is not her own.
A painter paints...
In her vision,
In my memories of the beauty of this world she once pointed out.
But her expression is not her own.
A little girl loves...
In the subtle arm movements,
In the mournful vocalization I think is song,
In the beauty she sometimes sees,
In the smile as I move her body,
In the sparkle in her eye as I sing to her,
In the giggle when I am silly.
And her heart is her own.
And my heart is hers.