The Key.

I came across a hidden key,

and held it in my palm,

sequestered in a suitcase,

and how the years had flown.



The once bright metal, tarnished,

the brass was worn, right through,

yet, the memory, I remembered,

was the house, that I once knew.



I entered through the doorway,

and went through to a room,

where I often played the piano,

and mother sang, in tune.

The music drifted lightly

to a garden, of wildflowers,

and sun-bathed were the burnished lawns,

I languished there, for hours.



The breeze blew faint among the bows

of the old elm tree,

as I lay back with a book I read,

that brought it back to me.



I see your face,

you read the lines - the keeper of the key.

This was the time, of all the times,

that meant so much, to me.

Copyright Suzy Davies, 07/06/2017.