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Poem
I was an experienced interior designer, whose specialty was outer doors,
Ever opening to amber sunshine, as petals open, when vivid beams pour.

Functionality and beauty were very vital, so I helped customers each day,
To choose materials, colors and styles, like modish spring's latest display.

I adored inspecting the final product, and its impact on the whole house;
As butterflies, greenery and blue skies, incite rapture for motley crowds.

Opaque doors always fascinated me, being portals of frenzy and mystery.
When in and out of lives, folks pass, they admit love, views and deliveries.

Friends followed footpaths through grey fog, as half blind flowers smiled,
Visiting, as time's frenzied drumbeat thrummed, in the rhythm self styled.

Fine, faithful family flew in to see me, in famed, hued, fruitful days of fall;
And we finally caught up on what was new, like rose fragrance in the hall.

I lived in the house of warm welcome, that perpetually admitted visitors,
As smoky lavender admits sunshine, and spicy breezes indulge whispers.

Sassy summer's saga spoke of splendor, as lemon scorching days sizzled,
On my street of sunsets chasing sunrise, where diamonds often drizzled.

Noon neatened nostalgic landscapes; the sage shadows suddenly fleeing;
And nesting nightingales swept national blue, as neighbors were seeking.

The world's rarest flower, Middlemist red camellia, had long since bloomed, 
Before summer turned deep golden, and deep twilight shadows marooned.

Johnny jump up violets were hopping gaily, in a blind fury of scathing days,
In the presence of Sweet Juliet Rose, giving peach and apricot hued praise.

I had a pretty antique, ruby necklace, and its clasp had sadly, been broken;
Like the aging moment you notice it is night, as hoot owl eyes give a token.

I wildly sought my loved heirloom, like crescent moon after gold treasure;
But a diligent search was alas, fruitless, like unripe, cherry orchard leisure.

I'd last sighted it on the oak table, which was situated near my front door,
As I planned to visit a jeweler for repairs. Like rainbow, not here anymore.

Melancholy descended like a cloud. The jewels had been in the family long,
And my birthday was approaching, like pink robin, singing brand new songs.

When my birthday finally arrived, my friend gave me the repaired pendant.
My doorway had allowed a love event, and given joy, its likely descendent.

The strange mystery had been solved, like where where love goes at times,
Or the regular return of capricious comets, when pink rose on trellis climbs.
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