Death Is A Door

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Death is only an old door
Set in a garden wall;
On gentle hinges it gives, at dusk
When the thrushes call.

Along the linted are green leaves,
Beyond the light lies still;
Very willing and weary feet
Go over that sill.

There is nothing to trouble any heart;
Nothing to hurt at all.
Death is only a quiet door
In an old wall.

–Nancy Byrd Turner

Sunday,Monday,Tuesday,Wednesday,Thursday,Friday,Saturday
January,February,March,April,May,June,July,August,September,October,November,December
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