Ingrids Auswahl - Ingrids Poetry (89)

The Door

So close to that mysterious door

Fear bids the soul to enter in.

Death is not foe, but friend!

Don’t linger take his hand.

For beyond that secret door

You will find that blissful shore.

Where all pains all sorrows flee.

Happy there your soul will be.

Go my friend, don’t look behind.

Glory land you there will find.

In your makers fond embrace,

Feel his love, behold his face.

There you will come to understand

Death is not foe

But loving friend.

The Stair

Oh dear, once again I stand,

Rail held tied in hand,

At the bottom of does dreaded stairs.

Wishing I was fit, young and fancy free

Like a little bird without a single care.

Wishing I could fly, or just go hop, hop,

Quickly from one stair unto another,

Now it’s plain to see for old folks like me

Climbing Stairs is really quiet a bother.

Now I would not mind, no! I would not care

Someone big and strong, hoist me up that stair.

Breezing out a sigh, think of years gone by,

When a favoured past time was to rock and roll.

When on mountain track weight down with a pack

All the rocks and boulders under firm control.

Oh! I had such fun when these knees were young,

Now the memories of the past just fill the soul.

But I must be fair, willingly declare

That it’s someone else’s turn to go and do

All the things of youth, whilst I face the truth

Standing at the bottom of does dreaded stairs.