the maiden of the valley...

Staring wistful
At that not so distant top
She drooled...

The day has waned
The sun will soon its path bend
Behind those cliffs...
She sat there still and stiff
An eternal wait...

Staring wistful...
She drooled...
For her wight...
Thinking how she would him greet
As soon as she would see
His silhouette...
By that garden gate...
Where tulips bloomed...

She drooled...
Thinking so many things...
What from the town he would bring...
For her...perhaps a lovely nose-ring...
A pure shining silver...round
A bangle rarely found...
Or it might be a newly woven
 satin headscarf with a lovely pheran...
Hemmed with flowers at its border...

She drooled...
The evening changed into night...
Her wight didn't return...

Only the next morn
When the sun again shone
Her man...
Did to her gate return
But carried by helpful souls...
Over shoulders held aloft cold...

Her man...
Did return...
Without that lovely pheran...