Rimsky-Korsakov knows my heart

In my heart I have walked
with Rimsky-Korsakov,
over the rolling countries
of his music.
Together we have stood
solemn in church.

We have danced the wild dances,
of the Tartars.
Stamped, advanced, retreated,
with the fiery hearts
of Spaniards.
Tempted each other
with the sensuous twists
and turns of Araby.

Entwined, we have drifted,
Don rivers, across oceans.
Counted stars in midnight skies,
burned under hot summer Suns.
Listened spellbound,
to the stories, of Scheherazade;
until our eyelids
drooped in exhaustion.

Yes, Rimsky-Korsakov,
knows my heart.