"The Zephyr"
She walks past in front of me,
gracefully moving and serenely regal;
natural as the free-flowing wind of the day.
Everything about her seems magical.
She stands just in front of me.
The fragrance overflowing from her hair of silk ebony;
a scent of blooming flowers from the wild
ascending through my nostrils, so sweet yet mild.
She sits right there across me.
Her beauty illuminated vividly-
a face from the Orient caressed by the West;
lovely in its strangeness
There she always passes me by,
strikes me down to paralysis- I wonder why
Her presence always shakes me with a mystical sensation;
I begin to think I've got no hold over my emotion.
Ah, she is uncommon,
far more captivating than the fair full moon.
But she just passes me by
like an elusive butterfly.
I know she will never be mine.
So I walk the path opposite to where she'd passed by,
trailing heavy footsteps on its soft earth,
singing my feelings on the air with a melancholic sigh.
She can never be mine
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