The Door Is Open
A wooden carving of a regal and grand horse stands,
outside to greet and usher customers into the dim.
The windows are a cluttered chaos of assorted things,
all beckoning and charming me to venture in.
The light is dappled and the corners lost in shadows,
aisles are narrow and navigation is so treacherous.
I like a box of odd books, some new and some old,
wondering why someone let these perfect gems go.
Most of the merchandise is too expensive for this girl,
but sometimes a treasure is awaiting my contemplation.
One mismatched plate, perhaps, or an old poetry book,
I love to ponder jewelry flamboyant, garish and gaudy.
The entire store is filled with odd, mismatched things,
I visit an ornate dressing table each time I visit there.
Imagining that it resides in my very own sparse room,
it is a journey into the unknown each time for sure.
_____________________
June 21, 2013
Poetry/Verse/The Door Is Open
Copyright Protected, ID 06-487-555-21
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
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