The OctPoWriMo theme today is doors. This poem came out as a sort of unmetred sonnet.
This house is bounded by stone walls,
sheltered by the roof, and more,
all the life within, without
is guarded by a door.
Feet first she went, among the mourners
following, darkening the sill.
Head first the baby entered,
banishing the dark, the weeping fallen still.
She always said that, my grandmother,
when one goes out another takes their place,
leaving or arriving, the balance kept
with open arms to vibrant life or death’s sad face.
Whichever way we pass, on joyful feet or head bowed to the floor,
It will always be beneath the scent of roses round the door.