I had not heard the door;
I did not hear it close.
Forgive me that I knocked,
forgive my innocence.

You see, I’ve walked your floor,
I know where this door goes,
but now to me it’s locked;
Of this I can’t make sense.

Were we not one?
Were we not friends?
I thought we were.
I must be wrong.

And now it’s done.
What hope amends
with words unsure
our broken song.

But still the fir tree rises high,
a home to many birds which fly,
and you and I planted that seed.
I’ll not repent of such a deed.


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