Anne weiss - In bloom


Some doors are open
and some are made of glass
and some slowly turn to sand
and you find them slipping out of your hands

and some doors
are when the trees bind
over my head
and do I dare to walk through
to where the handle of the sun
opens the garden of you

Who is knocking at my heart
who is knocking at my heart
who is knocking at my heart?


Some doors are made of silence
and some doors are made of language
and some doors have no key
but this garden has no gate
it just grows memories

These days
are secret, kept
in the frame of the sky
and the steps leading to all that blue
is where you'll find me waiting

Who is knocking at my heart...
in bloom.

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