By Karen Walker
Wait! Please don’t walk away,
There is a story much I want to convey,
I don’t mean to impose
But the last door is about to close…
I was hiking with a friend
And I got lost near the river bend
I am not sure how they found me
As I sat beneath the old birch tree…
There is so much more to tell
But I am in a living hell
When I go to catch the words,
They fly away faster than any bird,
My mind is a house of doors
With words scuttling along the floors
And I rush down each hall
Racing to catch them all,
Yet the door slams before I arrive
Where is that story I want to revive?
Yes, the doors are closing quickly now
My stories grow shorter with every hour
I still know your face
And you voice is easy to place
But your name is last in line
That door just closed for the last time
I was hiking with some friends
And I got lost near the river bend
I am not sure how they found me
As I sat beneath the old Birch tree…
There is so much more to tell
But the doors have all closed…
