A constant, distant cymbal.
A second, after the next each nimble
strand of wind catches amongst the chimes.

The women here sway at their troubles.
Needless to say, their pleasure doubles

with a glimpse of their dewed canvas.
Never vulnerable and never anxious.

The melanin glows from miles away:
Even seen now and again from the Wasteland.

A Valinor for deities and Gods;
To sip on the finest grapes, feast on the manna of the apotheosis.

A thousand glimmering rays, kissing the ringlets of green, meandering slowly around the Sun.

In these oriental Lands
I fall in love again after the many cold winters I have spent alone-

Crashing with the icy waves and glacial monsoons.
The maple and fragrant cedar
Fills my visions with a perdurable perfume.