Door at the end of the hallway, never opened,
brown in color, wooden,
keyhole, but no key,
rusty door knob, I turn.
The squeaky door now ajar,
quietly I look, stepping
on tip toes, through
the slight opening of the door.
Pushing door open, scraping sound,
door opens wide with a shudder,
I can now see, entering into
a beautiful secret garden.
Colorful flowers all in a row,
trees stand tall; fruit upon,
in morning sun, blades of grass
shimmer, dew drops.
Blue birds chirping in trees,
ladybird upon a flower leaf,
butterflies, vibrant, flutter,
frogs sits on water lily in pond, croaking.
This door shall now never close
now that I know, what lies beyond
this odd closed door
a garden of delight, maybe even fairy flight.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem that describes what is behind the door. Any type of poetry welcomed. |
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