The small gate in I remember it was red
But in later times it had a light blue hue;
Then as if with age it was painted grey-
These days it needs an overcoat or two.
It’s bolt on opening often sharply clicked,
Announcing a caller or a son or daughter.
In a minute you were standing at the door
That someone opened up to welcome you..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem