Her graceful feet crunched through snow as pale as her face,
Her blossom hair pins tumbled from her dark hair grace.
Her Obi tied like a crane with it's wings spread to fly,
Her eyes were pale blue like the clear summer sky.
Her Kimono, a wash of colour like paint in a stream,
Her smiling red lips, soft but keen.
Suddenly, she was seen, through flakes of snow,
by two richly dressed men, they basked her glow.
She joined them and led them into a warm tea house,
She was charming and witty, and was ready to arouse.
She poured them each tea, then entertained with song,
as the men got more generous, other geisha sang along.
But when the night time crept in, the moon on the snow,
She bowed, stood up, and knew she must go.
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