As One Door Closes Poem by poppy miller

As one door, not quite closed yet
Another's door key is turning.
Her hours of winter are on the wane,
Her soul, for peace, is yearning.

Life weary now, she sleeps,
Her head resting on a cotton case
Of flowering summer blooms,
Amongst bright green leaves of mace.

Nestling amongst the pillows,
Boisterous curls with sorrow shed
Whilst she, to some unknown spirit
Listens, turns and nods her head.

Though to most, she looks asleep,
‘Tis certain, she in deep connection;
Smiling at some hidden face
That seems to give her deep affection.

When I see her smile in that way,
My heavy heart becomes so dour
At this changing of the tide,
Nearer now to the boundary hour.

Oh, sweetly have you sung to me
Throughout your live long days,
To leave a melody of memories;
To carry me on my untrod ways.

I turn toward your garden,
See spring's arrival on a zephyr's wing;
Birthing forth in brisk vitality,
Such a scene for the muses to sing.

Yet here, in this heat choked room
I watch your winter, the reckless rover
Pushing you toward that bridge
That soon, you will cross over.

Meanwhile, let us both enjoy
This love; this unexplainable thing
Which sits deeply rooted in the heart
To which I so desperately cling.

Soon, your spirit will be called upon,
And soon will peel the passing bell.
Heads will bow and tears will flow,
As all who knew you bid farewell.