Behind The Iron Gate - Poem by Dan Reynolds
Behind the Iron Gate, we saw so many different things.
I saw the crazy-paving path, you saw the wrought-iron wings
stretched out across the lintle, o'er the blackened double door
a welcoming of angel's warmth, a refuge for the poor.
I saw the march of tattered dandelions of neglect
the next door neighbour's foliage, Leilandia, I suspect.
You saw yourself some years ago, a paint brush in your hand
Nothing boring in restoring distant memories, so grand.
A few decades, a few decayed and teetering on the rim
last vestages of childhood and the days we spent with him.
A stranger with a thousand tales who swore that none were true
Behind the Iron Gate I peer, and wish I saw the same as you.
Comments about Behind The Iron Gate by Dan Reynolds
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.