- The Old Gate
A rusted old gate
Stood stately guarding nothing
Only an open field of butter cups and daises
And memories stretched out behind
And around it grew the ivy vine.
No fence remained to help the gate
Keep the memories in
And loneliness out
But still it stood its sentry’s post
Though reasons for that had long been lost
Still it stood like an iron ghost
I could have walked around the gate
No fence impeded
But instead I open slowly
Its creaking hinges
So one more time
It could feel needed.
© 2012, Dan Sanders. All rights reserved.