Why am I haunted so by these phantoms
Story after story, verse after verse
I can’t help feeling this deep agony
Long ago a man lived in Scandinavia
A potter, a warrior, he traveled many lands
And it was there he met her to the east
Upon a merchants road, she longed for home
Yes, I’ve dreamt of him, through his eyes
Know his love of the morning sky
And his love of her cherry blossoms
Which she described lovingly to him
That she begged he come and see
That he live with her in the rising sun
Under the watchful sakura trees
The man who never seen such things
Would not leave his village isle
To live so far from Odin’s gaze
So young merchant daughter became
His devoted viking maiden
And together a son they did raise
To create simple tools from simple clay
How long ago, how many lifetimes now
And I am a simple man yet still
Is that merchants daughter out there now?
Is she in the rising sun, or is she yue
Perhaps I know what she means by “Hanzu”
Zhengou? the people of Han, like Waigong Lee?
Alas, maiden of dreams, finding you will set me free.
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The Shade of Writing 