Where lotus blossoms sleep
by marshes dank and deep.
My love went down to weep
so long ago.
She’d had to let me leave,
grow old and grey and grieve.
Go mad with make believe,
not let me know.
That she still cared for me,
though we could never be.
She needed to be free
so she could grow.
But wistful waves still rise,
‘spite savage sapphire skies,
And love, lost in her eyes,
is still aglow.