Out the door there is a yard,
A warm and green, and dog-filled yard,
Over the fence there is a field,
A bug-filled, overgrown-like field,
Past the field there lay the woods,
The old and swampy shadow woods,
In the woods there is a path,
A flowering, trespasser’s path,
Through the path another yard,
And thrown across, a chain blocks the way.
Quietly, creeping under it, the windows watch you stepping near,
The old house sees you sneaking there, and dare-compelled, you shake with fear,
You cross the lawn that snags your shoes, and falling, give yourself a bruise,
Now here it is, the moment true: You knock the door that drew you here.
Something! Someone stirs inside,
You spin and run, away you fly!
Over the chain and through the path,
And in the woods and
Past the field and over the fence,
And through the door…
Never to know the other more…
Unless they saw you and followed you home.