The Girl, Her Heart and the Water Lilies

I walk up the steps,

And into that grand first room

Of the glorious Met,

It makes me wish I could see The Louvre.

 

I search and I search

Eyes scanning each exhibition,

The Greek sculpture sitting on her perch

But she is not real enough to phase my inhibitions.

 

So I journey across town,

To the Museum of Modern Art,

Because I still have not found

That one piece that reflects my heart.

 

I weave through the corridors and crowds,

To the top floor I reckon,

Out the window I see the gray clouds and the city it enshrouds,

And to my right I see a room that beckons.

 

Tucked in the corner for I reason I do not know,

The blues and greens and dashes of pink cover,

A huge expanse of wall while Monet’s water lilies seem to grow,

And like a warm blanket, bliss settles over.