Death Is A Door
Death is only an old door
Set in a garden wall;
On gentle hinges it gives, at dusk
When the thrushes call.
Along the stones are green leaves and flowers,
Beyond the door is glorious light filled stillness;
Very willing and weary feet,
Go through the flower imbued door of forgiveness,
There is nothing to trouble any heart;
Nothing to hurt at all.
Death is only a quiet door
In an old enchanted garden wall.
NANCY BYRD TURNER.