Its grating voice an impish squeal,
'But there is nothing for you here,
Nothing that opening will reveal'
You reach to raise the iron-work
And could swear it moves before you do
You drop the ring upon the bolt
And silence echoes inside you
Before too long it speaks again
'I told you but you never ken,
Behind this door lies nothing'.
And so you sound the iron again
Again resounding nothingness rebounds
But this time bids the door ajar
You step through yourself and look behind
To find the door is who you are.
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