O Marrakech, Of The Paisley Clad Fool

The minstrels of Marrakech, sang a fabled tale
Of a maiden so beautiful and fair
With lips so red, like the clay from deep within
Her eyes, pools of limpid hope, hardly unseen
Searching the narrow streets for the nomad who left long ago
She saw the streets anew, as if she were a Marrakech widow.
She was widowed by the city she once knew
Now lovelorn, all of her perspective was askew
She roamed those souqs, once so vibrant and alive
Where he bought many a trinket, "something to remember me by"
Except now if you went into a souq on a weary hot afternoon
You’d see the dust hovering off the ground as if in a swoon
Begins to swirl around her as if tired of lying in wait
She makes off to the next corner in great haste
Widowed by a city she was once born to
Now unfamiliar, she was a paisley clad fool.
The minstrels of Marrakech sang a fabled tale
Of a woman of passion, and faith hale
Dressed like a Berber bride, she lied in wait
Sedate, never once having questioned her fate
The bright of the day only fortifying her love and faith
Its only with the descending dusk, it begins to abate
The Djemma El-Fna comes alive with many a twinkling light
Laughter and happy chatter as lovers stroll in soft moonlight
Smell of spices in the air, sounds of the snake charmers’ tune
In that melee of all, she wills an apparition off a sand dune
They tell her, she sits in an oasis, the desert afar
How she longs to make them see, she feels like that lone star
All she wants is her love; all else is bleak and black
So she roams the streets of Marrakech, to the beginning and back

The minstrels have long gone and the fabled tale since hushed
The city, a mecca of romance, since then, many a story of love told
But none with as much passion, unquestioned faith or a fate so cruel
Was long time ago, but if you hear a deep sigh
And a rustle of cloth as someone goes by
You have met the paisley clad fool.