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.