Like an ivory tower; like a sacred palace,
Stood my old beloved room,
Unaltered, like the face
Of one who tended it at noon,
Always, when the sun was hottest,
For she knew best.
It was Mother, standing like a queen,
Who bade me come in.
My eyes beheld every corner, every seam
That held unknown beauty within
These sacred walls of pinewood,
Once, reminiscent of my boyhood.
Like a Danish King; like an ivory tower,
With a wall against intrusion,
Peacefully thru' the golden hours
I slept, oblivious of worldly confusion,
Encompassed by majestic nobility
Of things familiar, and of tranquility.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.