Sunday, March 21, 2010

Red House
watercolor on paper

The Lockless Door by Robert Frost

It went many years,

But at last came a knock,

And I though of the door

With no lock to lock.

I blew out the light,

I tip-toed the floor,

And raised both hands

In prayer to the door.

But the knock came again.

My window was wide;

I climbed on the sill

And descended outside.

Back over the sill

I bade a... 'Come in'

To whatever the knock

At the door may have been.

So at a knock

I emptied my cage

To hide in the world

And alter with age.

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