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Walk through that open door

And I’ll pretend that I

Have never seen you before,

Your chestnut hair it frames

Scattered days upon the floor

Makes me think of distant times,

And all the things I never owned

Like fire and hope and love

Your voice sweet in the blackbird’s song,

A heart, a ring and other things

That lay like flowers

Their tears upon the winter ground,

Footsteps through the morning dew

And in my stolen dreams

Each moment brings me back to you,

Makes me think of silent days

Your eyes behind my eyes

And all the joy you ever saw,

I’ll cut away the creeping vines

And I’ll pretend that I

Am worthy of your gifts

If you’d walk through

That open door.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020