Ah the doors are many
Swift and sure they move
When just in reach I grasp
Meeting air and gone to
Past or rushed ahead, I
Gaze intent on them in
Wonder and awe of life
And how it flows divine.

I may sing the song
Of melancholy sweet
But in the heart reclines
Soft and southern, joy,
Hard found, hard sought,
Fair parched in a wonder
Of how it all is forming.