The relentless smooth breeze of the autumn noon nags me. It carries the whisper of the Japanese woman whose smile tells all but a tale of unforgotten memories.
She’s the woman whose elegance calls upon the butterflies; whose eyes look down but heart longs for uncharted rest lands.
The song she sings is of relentless hope, a hope of stillness and life and more.
Her heart, no man can ever know; never letting go of pain it should have long bestowed.
Is there anyone else but me who hears her voice?
Her unseen tears run down the stream, where her eyes are her heart and her cheeks are the stream banks.