Geneve Poem by Andrea Vescovo

There's a rock near Singapore,
between Sentosa and St John's,
on which an eastern maid appears
when the ill moon reaches its nook
above the darken'd rotan reeds
above the crooked deeds of men.

The ones who saw this bizarre lass,
(skittish nereid among the waves) ,
say she's extremely elusive
and her manners may well surpass
the way of Lady Mu, the poet
who proved Cathay was made of glass.

Her hair are as dark as the depth
that can be found beneath her feet,
She'll entertain in various way,
the sailor that crosses her path,
with her pearly eyes of youth,
with her coy smile (blessed ivory) .

And so she lulls the night away,
giggling quietly and telling jokes,
till the red harbinger of day,
teases away with her first ray,
the maiden sweet, the seamen named
simply Geneve.