i'm beginning to sound like andy rooney...can death be far behind
We're born keyless. Then given plastic keys to play with. We earn our first key of responsibility. To mobilize-to enter things. To cage things-to abuse things. Like a warden with a cluster of keys letting the good out- keeping the bad ones in or is it the other way around? A steady stream of keys. Like a bird-every key sings ,, especially the skeleton key. Only a few keys are able to keep your secrets. Eventually there is a chorus of keys Most of mine(secrets) are silver or gold Some are dirty, some are clean. Only one of them is king but none of them are green We often lose them Then a mad search commences, Like a red-eyed druggie rooting for a quick fix, We smile in relief when we find them, Hugging them as if they were our children. Keys grow old, become battered and bent Some wriggle off the ring. Every year we have fewer keys. Keys are a lot like friends, What a relief it must be to be keyless again.
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