My life has become a series of rooms
That I enter and visit awhile,
And remembering each can make me feel sad
Or sometimes can bring me a smile.
Though sometimes the doors can open again,
Some of them bear a big lock,
Some of the keys are my memories,
Some of them ruled by the clock.
Can I still climb a tree? I probably can,
I just have to find the right one
With branches in reach, not too far apart…
Hey, that’s sounding like fun!
But can I return to what I once was
As a child or even a teen?
No, time rushes on, in fact I don’t want
To be what I sometimes have been.
Doors open up, some of them close,
Before I can spend enough time
To see if the room will hold something bad
Or something good or sublime.
The room I’m in now holds promise for me,
Changes and chances to take.
It’s all a matter of trusting that God
Will show me which door I should take.