In the city there is a maiden of beautiful brows;
Pearls at her waist—how they tinkle and jingle!
She plays with her parrot in front of the bloom;
She strums her pipa-lute beneath the full moon.
Her long song resounds for three months running;
Her short dance is to be seen by thousands of men.
There is no need for such a long tarrying—
A heat-loving hibiscus can't withstand cold, anyway.
good one
I am reminded of fascinating tales of folk lore laced with mysterious meaning that I loved reading as a child...
The scenes you create are enchanting...
Diana...
Ron