Three At The Door Poem by David Taylor

Door bell chimes its discordant tune
ringing in still light, in month of June,
doors open wide, with sight alive
to coloured visions in my mind.
Ears receiving sounds of kinds
children's play and traffic bound
songs birding in birches' branched out hands.

I thought back to days on balmy nights
where we'd danced to disco'd sounds;
three stood at my door
their words as like a trumpet call
with sounds that tinkled, hard to find
amid the drumming in my mind.
Not them again, not them, not them,
them... them....them, them, them.

The beat drowned out the bugled call.
Not hearing words or seeing true
coloured eyes with blinded mind
I did not hear to know what they said
just listened to those drums
resounding in my head.

They came bringing salvation of their kind,
a salvation I must find?
I smiled received a saviours' pamphlet
bid them well, their buttons shined,
in my mind discordant chimes
ringing in still light of June.