Little Goose

The night comes softly, and tucks each little one under the eiderdown.

At last I have found you:
your hand-mirror framing curls,
the bright crinkle dress
shimmering like silk—
one of the gowns of a young princess.
In aqua and lavender
the sun melts over the hills,
dusty with the heat of day—

And then, with the moon’s advent
the necklace of beads
is lovingly placed
in an old jewelry box.
Through the window
I can see the wild goose garden
where the pond reflects
the house lights.

Kiss goodnight,
little goose.

Emily Isaacson

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