China Jon's Syncretic Journal

I saw them walking:
She was graceful and dainty while her steps stirred no dust.
I could not hear them talking:
Though shadows upon the wall hinted at both their love and their lust.

He spoke to her and held out his hand.
She followed, stepping over the Spring flowers that covered the land.

Hand in hand they walked past a murmuring dove.
The swirling fragrances of trees and flowers shrouded their love.

They walked into the cleft of rock,
so dark and cool.
I turned away,
feeling like a lonely fool.

My steps led me home,
so far away and high:
My mountain home.
It will welcome my echoing steps,
my murmur, my sigh.

I wonder.
Who can find their way to such a place?
Too far from where they work or play.
When will I touch her upturned face?
If she comes, what will I say?