Open
The doors are always open as a metaphor and fact,
And though for most the sunset sees the mise-en-scene contract,
For others in this world of ours the world remains their own
And all that's out of others' doors is no less home than home.
The doors are always open and the larder never bare,
A life that proves in practice we get more from what we share;
For when we eat life's cake alone we get cake through and through,
But when we give a slice away there's love and laughter too.
The doors are always open but sometimes no one's home,
For sometimes, often even, a free heart needs to roam,
And sometimes, often even, a free heart must afford
To let charity at home accede to charity abroad.
The door is always open and the world is always, too,
For lives so full of being lived there's no time for review,
And some of us see borders which constrain our scope and span,
And others only frontiers which adventure expands.