|The Mag : Charleston Farmhouse Door|
During his last years, Daniel decided
To speak about life to his only son.
All along the tide of life, he galloped,
Sometimes tall, sometimes meager,
In an infinite cycle of pain and smiles,
He always met doors that led him about,
It was about doors he wished to speak,
Doors that open onto obscure turfs.
His words never held the aura of youth,
Yet his eyes intended to portray zest,
He neatly wrote whatever occurred inside:
'Son, there are doors all around,
There are some in our home, and
More around you and inside too.
'Tis seldom you shall see them,
And rarely enough shall you find
I may never help you to find 'em
But do search around, cause if
You don't it shall unite with the
Walls and you would never know
Grow bold you will, and surely
Open doors at will, but never hold
Pride, cause locked doors are
All around, and eventually you
Will meet with one. Have grace!
Accept that some doors are meant
To be barbed! And maybe then
You would find a way around
The walls, or even through them!
Indeed a saint once said, doors
Lead men to light, I never knew
What he meant then, but now
As I face a door half open as
I look up, I feel I always knew,
'Tis for this I let the paper taste
The dying ink!'
Indeed with those words Daniel opened
His last door, which presented Light!
It must also be said, he helped his son
To open his first door onto a fresh expanse,
That was filled with a different Light