open the old wood gate
with your strong cracked
calloused hands
hear it creak and shake
on its silver hinges
as birds on the back fence
leap hop and peep
in a binge of joy
line the twelve steps
to the squat square house
with your very best poems
printed with careful attention
on parchment and vellum
and with nary a twinge
you move through
the lush green yard
fresh spilling
with flowers
while your once sad
wandering feet
do find their
way home.
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