Geisha upon my fan,

Do you come from far Japan?

A tiny Moonlit face,

Do you like this place?

Do you miss the cherry trees,

And the wafting scent of juicy lychees?

Where the cuckoo bird shall sing,

during the spring?

For the silk swishes softly across the tatami floor ,

As your high wooden clogs clamp dully behind the paper door.

There you tighten your obi,

With one last glance at the Okiya.

Red lips no bigger than Sakura ,

Porcelain faces breaking into daint giggles.

You miss the heavy smell of incense in the shrine,

And the cups of blush wine.

Smoothening out your kimono,

A farewell to Haru.

And now you dance upon my oriental fan,

Geisha of far Japan.

                                                                                                   Ela