The Golden House

There is a house, all white and golden,
With huge high gates, that rarely open.
You enter the garden, the grass a clear green,
With flower beds scattered, maintained and clean.
The front door opens, inside I peer,
I see a staircase, a crystal chandelier.
The stairs are steep, I cannot climb,
Must leave to go, it's not my time.
One day I'll return and enter within,
The master will then welcome me in.

by Angela Henderson

Other poems of ANGELA HENDERSON (2)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.