Old China girl,

      She sleeps

      Among the gingerflowers

      And lines of pale bamboo.

      She mutely sings,

      Her feet beside a barrel

      Of suckling pigs,

      And head amidst

      A wickered cloud of doves.

      The Sage forsakes his scrolls

      To see her.

      Old China girl,

      She dreams the land

      (Herself, the land's own dream).

      She will rise up

      And go to market,

      Will sell the pigs and doves,

      And then walk home

      By moonlight,

      Singing love

      And village fare.

      And though she goes,

      Years hence

      The Sage will dream of her,

      Old China girl,

      A risen, timeless trophy

      From the land.

                        April 27, 1997

                       An old poem was modified to fit a picture. See the original in poetry section.

           The old poem, called "On a Bloodstone Vase," is more subtle and compressed,

           but harder to paint.   The painting , I hope, is as interesting as either poem.