A piece of paradise, in the city of kings,
Walled-in from its grime and its crime
By white-washed walls, white pebbles strewn
Beneath rough tables and chairs, a nook in time.
Beneath the shade of gentle pristine trees,
Whiskey like liquid gold flows on the rocks,
Wisps of Gold Flake smoke like silver dreams
Curl upwards and vanish in the darkness of her locks
The smiling waiters, melting into the shadows,
Unobtrusive, indifferent, respectful, calm, silent;
Not so the dark, angry, moral policing clouds,
Rumbling in envy of love, threaten to be violent.
And then her voice, full of the joy of now,
A song of passion, wistfully beginning to rise,
But suddenly choked, by sadness of coming separation,
That melts the clouds, and they flow through her eyes.