My Siamese and I have run away
in dreams, to Egypt where the sand is white.
She purrs a song this cold, November day.
A harem girl with colored scarves, I sway
with burnished dancers weaving left and right.
My Siamese and I have run away.
If we grow tired of bells and harps, we may
escape to Cairo when the moon is bright.
She purrs a song this cold, November day.
Her sleepy eyes, half open, seem to say:
Conjure a handsome sheik in blazing light!
My Siamese and I have run away.
The sleet is on the window pane. I pray
we do not waken to that dreary sight.
She purrs a song this cold, November day.
Until the storm is past we must obey
that camel call that lures us with its might.
My Siamese and I have run away.
She purrs a song this cold, November day.

Published on November 1st, 2022