Life said: “My house is thine with all its store:
Behold I open shining ways to thee-
Of every inner portal make thee free:
O child, I may not bar the outer door.
Go from me if thou wilt, to come no more;
But all thy pain is mine, thy flesh of me;
And must I hear thee, faint and woefully,
Call on me from the darkness and implore?”
Nay, mother, for I follow at thy will.
But oftentimes thy voice is sharp to hear,
Thy trailing fragrance heavy on the breath;
Always the outer hall is very still,
And on my face a pleasant wind and clear
Blows straitly from the narrow gate of Death.
The Outer Gate
Nora May French
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Poem topics: breath, child, death, house, life, mother, pain, wind, voice, clear, narrow, face, door, sharp, open, portal, heavy, follow, shining, thine, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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