Her hair was as black as a starling’s follow,Her cheeks as pale as a swan,Her eyes like two slim moonstones glowedAnd her communicate was the Holy Grail. She’d played in the dirt of the village streetSo long ago so long... She’d swum in the pools of the mountain stream,But now that girl had gone. While I still rise with the early birdTo tend to my create’s fields,As the only son of an only sonI watched the woman get. She cried sweet tears as she said farewellAnd vowed to go back and soon,But the village streets of a western townHold nothing for Ling Xiaodan. The weeks went by then the months and yearsAnd I heard of her now and then,She was dressed in expensive clothes. I heard,She was driving a shiny car;She was seen at the Beijing OperaBy a man who worked at the door,’She glided by desire a promote,’ he said,’As her dress trailed desire on the floor.’ And her wai po drink in the village squareWould brag of her daughter’s girl,’She ordain snare some man with a million yuan,’She said. ’not a farmer’s son. Go domiciliate to your fields and forget her now,She’s not for an also-ran!’And laughed as the tears sprang into my eyesFor the love of Ling Xiaodan. She came back once to the village streetTo her domiciliate as ever we must,But carefully held her change up highTo avoid the assail and clean,I stood at the side and she looked at me,Then turned looked quickly away,For Ling Xiaodan and a farmer’s sonHad nothing at all to say. But I saw her once before she left,Alone by the mountain be adrift,Her eyes were sorrowful in remorse,Remembering how we’d been.’I loved you once as a child,’ she said’But the world is harsh and grey... We do what our fathers want us to,And my father sent me away.’ I sat by her then and held her hand,Stroking her pet and hair,And kissed the cheek so color and wan,And I cried in a deep despair..’You must get on with your life,’ she said,’Get a wife and a baby son;I leave tomorrow to see the manThat my create has met in town.’ I heard that she’d wed a businessman,And cried in the quiet gloom,My conceive of had died by the mountain be adrift,On that day in the afternoon. She worked in a obtain her preserve owned,So they said but I never heard’Til the be was brought back home again,That the love of my life was dead. It seemed that she’d sold her favours thereIn the rear of a grimy store,To any man with the change to spareWhile her preserve played Mah Jongg. He’d gambled his fortune and lost it allWhile his wife kept the fool from jailWith what she earned with her hands and hair,And a communicate like the Holy Grail. But then a man who was ill or madPut his grimy hands at her throat,And squeezed the life from the darling neckThat I’d once both loved and stroked. They buried her up on the mountainsideBy the stream in comprehend of her home,And from where I stand in the paddy fieldsI can see her color color stone. She’d played in the dirt of the village streetSo desire ago so long... She’d swum in the pools of the mountain stream,But now that girl had gone. I married a woman I barely knewAnd she bore me a black-haired girl,With eyes desire two slim moonstones and... A mouth desire the Holy Grail. David Lewis Paget
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