The Door

Twas early morning, not quite bright,

And in the wood I walked.

The boughs were creaking in the wind,

The leaves began to rot.

The trees told me a story,

They said come with us dear friend!

Come, let me tell you a story-

From the beginning to the end.

I walked and followed their voices,

The trees began to grow.

Older now they were and solemn,

Of times past long ago.

I crossed a creek by wooden bridge,

And then over a grassy ridge.

To my surprise, in the hill I saw a door!

A knobby door with etched runes of yore.

I thought it strange, a little queer.

I’d never seen a door here!

But then I’d never been here before!

I resolved then to try this door,

To see where it might lead.

Perhaps it was an alehouse,

Filled with ale, wine and mead!

Perhaps it was a gardenhouse,

Filled with pots and seeds.

It could have been a sooty mine,

Spilling with silver and greed!

I grasped the knob and took a pull

It wouldn’t budge! I tried once more.

Locked! I sighed. I should have known.

I turned around to go on home.

And there I saw before my eyes,

A small glimmer, to my surprise

A key was lying upon the ground!

I picked it up and looked back to the mound.

The key seemed just the right size…

I put it in. The click of a lock! I opened up the door…

And I shall tell you nothing more.