"Ooo say, aren't you sweet,"
cooed the maiden to the glistening stone
she spied awash of the rushing stream.
From that day forth
it would rule her mind 'til the end
of her days and her dream.
A cold, black stone to the touch,
to the eye, as red as fire.
The bright hue could make
the Pheonix blush
as did the maiden's desire.
She stopped to pick the ripened rock
and to clutch it to her heart.
The river, lusting for its own,
quickly swept the two apart.
They say she is crazy,
for she walks within a haze.
The river took the precious stone
and her wish of finer days.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978