There's an old door in my garden, <br />Was put there long ago. <br />Rather then leave it for the trash, <br />I planted it so it might grow. <br /> <br />Dug deep I did that it might root, <br />And one morning I might see. <br />The hand of the Lord at work, <br />Of an old door birthed from a tree. <br /> <br />' Knock and it shall be open', <br />These words written so long ago. <br />So much lay beyond for you and me, <br />More then you'll ever know. <br /> <br />This door once hung on someones house, <br />Held by hinges made of brass. <br />Painted white, chipped and faded now, <br />With panes crystal clear, now just broken glass. <br /> <br />How many times did one knock, <br />Yet never enter in? <br />Held to all their selfish needs and pride, <br />And not forgiven of their sins. <br /> <br />Every year I will replant, <br />With hopes that with sun and rain. <br />It will bring forth little seedlings, <br />From the wood, the brass, the panes. <br /> <br />Then I shall place God's harvest, <br />Along the roadside, for you to take on your way home. <br />Then maybe you'll plant one of your own, <br />From the old door God had grown.<br /><br />Linda Winchell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-door/
