Entrance of Wild Oat

The discovery of a foreign land is as discovering the country within you.

While I was waiting for you,
sitting in the entrance,
the halls hushed,
I heard the sound of a bell,
tip-toes clicking on the marble floor,
then you appeared, with lips like satin
and skin bronzed, with slanted eyes.
I stood at salute, while you bowed.

Here was a gift from me to you;
a watering of a stone
from many journeys.
When you saw my grand pianoforte,
your curiosity placed one hand
upon its keys, which sounded the note.
Resonating on, as a noctilucent cloud,
we would transcend.

Emily Isaacson

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