Fold for me a paper plane
We’ll fly away, just us twain
Lifted on a dulcet strain
I’ll be the pilot and steer us clear
While you behold the sights my dear
The clouds once so far draw near
See the heights we will attain!
We’ll fly over snowy peaks
Dive down with delighted shrieks
With mistrals breaking across our cheeks
Racing against the pearly cranes
Then hie we to the milky river
Past the moon shining silver
There we’ll land for new adventure
Propelled on by a sirin’s refrain
This poem is a Zejel, a Spanish from with the following pattern: aaa, bbba, ccca, ddda and can be continued for as long as one likes.
Definitions:
Mistrals - cold northern winds in France.
Sirin - the Russian version of the Greek sirens. The sirins can be benevolent, which is what I wanted portrayed in the poem.