The Door is Hidden

The door is hidden, yet has been here all along;
its closing is an illusion born of time.
The edges fade and beauty, lush and joyful, begins
and begins.
Her colors beckon and overgrow the hardness of my heart.
Sepia tones of winter transform in Disney Technicolor
and I expect to see a talking bird atop my finger.
Alas, no magic here, save for a remnant of hope remaining.
Enter beauty,
for you are beautiful.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

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