Will she drift through the fragrant almond trees
Like a wayward nymph on a westward breeze
Or alight from a firefly, proud as you please
In the blazing shades of dawn?

Might I meet her down on the misty heath
Toasting acorns on a smoky wreath
Swapping recipes with the folks beneath
Waiting for the morn?

Should I look for her on the lily pad
In a shimmering pool, filigree-clad
Consoling a dragonfly, deathly sad
Wings so lightly worn?

I shall wait for her in the shifting sand
On the limits of this foreign land
With a wave she’ll come, holding out her hand
By the current gently borne.