Every door has a season
every step, a reason
starting with the East
a yellow sun rising
a springtime beginning
an opened door
of seeds planting.
And as I grew
into a south red hot summer
a drought
sent my roots deep seeking.
It forced my roots wider
I put out more shoots
becoming steady
and closed my South door.
I was ready for the West
and opened Autumns black clouds of storms.
As my young harvest grew
and the winds blew
my roots held
for my grip was wide
and I held my children tight.
The sun is setting on the West door
When I close it,
I will open the North.
Coldness comes from this North door
and a whiteness only learned
from the roots where they grew.
My step is steady for that reason.
Opening that door will close all seasons
LauraLee K. Harris
