I am a courier
I carry a letter
I'm bringing it to
my love, she hails
from far-off lands
her eyes are like
the sun, it sets
beyond the trees
it stabs me with
its gaze, so rare
and ne'er to be found
again, I must
retrace my steps
for, lost in thought
I seem to have passed
her house, all made
of crimson tile
a-dripping down
the lane, where garden paths
converge, to build
in essence, a friendship
as they do in Kyoto.