Corina 67?

Oh Corina your memory

Sings distant in my memory

And your words are dumb

Forgotten drops of dew.

Your perfume too no longer fills my room.

The room I never really knew.

Your minstrel played his way to hell

Then woe betide those sterile

Heavenly harpists.

And did your red dress

Never really burn those eyes

That always yearned to understand

Your smile?

- eyes that never saw.

Your touch was gentle

Your whisper soft,

Your body frail as an eggshell

That fell beneath my stumbling soul.

Those nights were soft and warm.

Those kisses meant no harm

We only waited, patient for the dawn

And then, one quiet August day

Your dawn never came.

Corina, I loved you

Three crimson mountains glow

Through the purple mist.

A green satin cushion

Is trimmed with gold

And matched by the jade horse.

The brass bell rings

Till the chimes echo

And echo across the roof-tops.

The waves of sound

Ripple up the hillside

Washing over a dead sheep fleece

Breaking in a foam

Of milk white snow

On the crests of the crimson mountains.


And a monk walks silently

Head bowed through the tangled forest.

A deer leaps from his path

and pauses, damp nose poised


The monk finds a grassy rock

And stops.

Sits down, and dies.

On the golden beach

A ripple turns a shell.

When first I felt you

Warm my dreams

When the sunbeams

From your radiant eyes

Once passed across that quiet glade

My tranquil mind

And melted the last snow

Of winter into the first

Clear stream of spring.

When your gentle lullaby

First stirred the air

The flowers opened

And the very nightingale

Ceased her song

For wonder at those tender notes.

Why did the mountain fall?

In what other universe

Do you now while away

Your loving youth alone?

Corina, come back home.