Listen! the north wind
 
keeps banging on my front door,
 
but can’t pick the lock.

 
 

If the door is locked,
 
why try to force it open?
 
Listen, the wren sings!

 
 
 

Door of old sorrows—
 
at dusk I stand before it,
 
my key in the lock.

Shadows

 
 

Winter afternoon—
 
even the courtyard gate lock
 
fills up with shadows.