The Door Poem by Dorsey Baker

Hinges so rusted
they almost fall off
and fall to the floor
the door is weather beaten
the paint is peeling
very weary the sound
that it makes as it opens
and closes toiling in its pain
but it stands proudly
like a security guard
those who come into the house
they must first come
through the door
the door is like a butler
it lets people into the house
and it lets people out of the house
many people and many things
have come
through the door
the door is tired now
and ready to retire
the door has lived
a good life!