Spring Door

The new day will always be the awakening of new thought.

Here, I dwelt on earth, but heaven was imminent.
The road continued as an amber
wake of cobblestones
through villages of lace.
A flow’r of morn
entwined through the lattice,
I smelt the light,
I felt the warmth.

As a young girl from
her white fresh pillow,
I arose from the ground.
It was the Lavender spray
I diffused into the room
as an activist of women’s rights.
When women had the right to vote,
I would sleep late.

Emily Isaacson

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