A Locked Door Poem by Christopher Teale

Flowers blowing in the wind,
precious moments flying by.
Fickle heart unkind.

Careful steps the ice to try,
walk to slowly to keep apace.
Too fast they fly.

Sunshine daring, peeking through
darkened ceiling of storm and rain.
Wavering feet can never be true,
the road, to them, is always vain.

Between the ticking of the clock,
and the whispers locked in stone.
lies the door I dare not knock,
behind which she sits alone.