The Door (Poem, 1970)

Light shined through the crack,

Of the slightly open door,

Brightening his room of black,

With color and nature’s sweet odor.

As he slowly rose,

With wildness in his eyes,

The door would always close,

Followed by his frantic cries.

Soon he just waited,

For the crack in the door,

Not knowing he was being baited,

Approaching the door no more.

If the door knob is ever turned,

It will be quite a shock,

To have finally learned,

That the door had no lock.