The Words of the Sage

In my search, the sage told me:
When rails sparkle their brightest,
The stars in my abode shall descend,
And pleasant air the sacred oak shall blow,

Then shall I meet her.
Then shall I unlock my gated artery of love
And allow her in to sit on the elevated place,
Wherefrom with me, she deals softly.

From then forward I gazed to the stars
Every night, deep nights, even days,
Kneeling like mantis to pray the stars to descend,
But unheard was my prayer.

Then, down the street,
where rails crisscross towns,
I walked to catch the brightest of their sparkles,
but in vain were my feet beat against stones.

Further down,
In the gathering of oaks, I sat,
That the sacred oak might blow its air,
But not one oak twinkle a leaf.

Then I let up, for the words of the sage were as water upon a stone.
But as the daylight slumbered, through town,
Darkness in riotous revel swept,
And echoes of fear rose like owls' hoots.

Suddenly, water of sparkles lifted around me,
My abode became as starry heaven,
While the gentle wind of a sacred oak blew mints of rose.
Then I looked around, there you were, my love.

Your face lit with sparkles of smiles,
Your eyes in the radiation of glowing stars,
And your embrace, a rapture of refreshing air,
Quickly I realized the words of the sage to be true.