Her eyes are odd colored
Her hair is a mess
I'd like to pretend,
But I know what comes next
She's selfish and loves it
She thinks it's the best
Still I love her
much more then the rest

Glacier like, she moves slowly
Heavily made up, doll like, Maiko
Moving toward her rite of passage in a
highly colorful kimono with extravagant obi.

Her bright face and silks are an unspoken code
Her parasol offers limited protection from the sun
and less to what's to come.
Although trained, this transaction is not of love.

The water's dreamy, slowly flowing
Between the corners of the streets,
Adorned brightly with lantern lights,
While the midnight wind is blowing.
Their moony, rosy brows are glowing,
At the breezing Kyoto nights,
Presenting to many crowds sights
Who're beautiful, while on they're going.

A maiko here, a geisha there,
Fleeting around in the bright moonbeams,
Like sakura petals on a spring-night.

I ask, they are going to where,
Besides just ending up in dreams
With their paints who're red and white?

In Shimabara's old frontiers
Illusive geisha, maiko spheres 
I seek the courteous sublime
Semblance of a long lost time
Fruit of untold fragranced tears