This was supposed to be a parody of AC Swinburne'sThe Garden of Proserpine. The rhyme and metrical scheme are the same, but the substance sort of took off on it's own after a couple of verses. There are two voices - the first is Hayasaka's, the second is...someone else.

Lost Wings

[1]
Here in the ancient city,
Where smells of smoke and brine,
And motor fumes, and pity,
Waft past like cheap rice wine,
The streets are overflowing
With people and their going,
Who laugh and cry, unknowing,
Unheeding and unkind.

[2]
And here I wander, tired,
Through a city pale as bone,
Depressed and uninspired,
Aimless and alone.
And as I walk, I ponder,
On what became of wonder,
Of lightning and of thunder,
How grey my life has grown.

[3]
Upon Sumida crossing
I sometimes pause at dawn,
To watch the muddy washing
Of currents, slow and strong.
When falling raindrops shiver
On the surface of the river,
I hear its grateful whisper
As seaward it is drawn.

[4]
And as the flowing river
Is pulled down to the bay,
There's a drawing on my spirit -
What it is, I cannot say;
I know I'd lose this tether,
If I could just remember
My loss, but like a feather
On the wind, it blows away.

[5]
Across the beach I watch her,
She sits upon the strand,
In patched and ragged sweater
And hair thrown on the wind,
Her self-possession showing
Quiet strength, and wisdom flowing,
But near her there are blowing,
Scattered feathers on the sand.


[6]
I've bartered openness
For strength with which to fight,
And traded innocence
For clarity of sight,
And now I can defend
The dreams of all my friends,
But somehow, in the end,
It's made my world less bright.

[7]
Though she be strong as seven
'Tis her with whom I'd dwell
For nowhere else is heaven,
And all else is but hell.
Though others lack her power,
Be delicate as flowers,
And gentle through the hours,
Near her they are but shells.

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