Keys On Chains Poem by Ron Wallace

</>Keys on chains lie lost,
buried near the bottoms of drawers,
unused, abandoned;
keys that served hands
now departed.

Once shining bronze,
they guarded earthly treasures, ignited fires
opened doors,
were known well by their owner.

This one belonged to Dad’s old Chevy;
this pile opened padlocks;
this fit an old door.
God only knows what locks
some of these released.

But here, year after passing year,
they have slept,
miniature Excaliburs, awaiting
their returning king
to lift them from disuse and dust.

And we have found them
in our search.
They cannot simply be cast away;
somehow, they must remain.
They wait
once more to open doors.