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THE KEY
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A YOUNG POET I feel I've been this way before,
Like stepping thru an open
door.
The door was shut, locked up
tight,
Darkness was there, instead
of light.
I looked and looked for the key,
Someone kept hiding it from
me.
Then one day, I turned around,
The key was lying on the
ground.
With key in hand, unlocked the
door,
Inside I started to explore.
copyright heather burns
