Pink Lady of Geneva: The Poem

Pink Lady of Geneva by Alexa O’Kane

Where did she come from, the old Lady of Pink?

Her pearlescent skirts tattered and dragging behind her,

from days past her beauty still shimmers, I think. 

The petals she scatters leave a distinct whiff of myrrh. 

Her pearlescent skirts tattered and dragging behind her,

gnarled hands twist her umbrella, feeling delicate blush lace.

The petals she scatters leave a distinct whiff of myrrh

as they waft to the ground from under the veil hiding her face.

Gnarled hands twist her umbrella, feeling delicate blush lace

and petals of pink fall like fragile tears down her cheeks

as they waft to the ground from under the veil hiding her face,

not a soul in Geneva quite knows what the Lady seeks. 

And petals of pink fall like fragile tears down her cheeks,

from days past her beauty still shimmers, I think. 

Not a soul in Geneva quite knows what the Lady seeks. 

Where did she come from, the old Lady of Pink?

Why is she here, the old Lady of Pink?

The elders say they have seen her wander before.

This healer from the East, her fate written in ink,

she searches for her lover, taken prisoner of war. 

The elders say they have seen her wander before. 

After every great battle fought hard and lost,

she searches for her lover, taken prisoner of war.

Wherever she walks, she goes fingers crossed.  

After every great battle fought hard and lost,

the old Lady of Pink is cursed to roam the docks.

Wherever she walks, she goes fingers crossed

with hope to find him and end the hex he unlocks. 

The old Lady of Pink is cursed to roam the docks

until she succeeds and heals her unsightly scars,

with hope to find him and end the hex he unlocks,

she will triumph or forever roam this city of ours. 

Until she succeeds and heals her unsightly scars,

this healer from the East, her fate written in ink,

she will triumph or forever roam this city of ours. 

Why is she here, the old Lady of Pink?

Where will she go, the old Lady of Pink?

Her lover must be dead and gone, already at peace.

She must go home to heal the heart that sinks

when her searching, as it must, will cease. 

Her lover must be dead and gone, already at peace.

Her mind still roils and tumbles and shrieks

when her searching, as it must, will cease. 

Her lip will tremble under her shimmering veil, weak. 

Her mind still roils and tumbles and shrieks

when he does not appear, as foretold,

her lip will tremble under her shimmering veil, weak. 

Her despair flows down in great drops of rose gold. 

When he does not appear, as foretold, 

she must give in and make the great journey.

Her despair flows down in great drops of rose gold

dripping past the veil made of her lover’s byrnie. 

She must give in and make the great journey,

she must go home to heal the heart that sinks,

dripping past the veil made of her lover’s byrnie. 

She will finally go, the old Lady of Pink. 

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An image of the interactive story map for The Pink lady of Geneva transmedia project.
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