Do you ever just wander past a room
And wonder what is inside? No hints
Are found on the door, it is simply
A plain white, wooden rectangle hanging like,
Well…a door…a silver sixties style handle
Mid way down, a small slither of threadbare
Carpet just poking beneath.
Yet when you go in there is no furniture to be
Seen, not a single spec of dust or swish of
Air, nothing, apart from your own beating heart
And breathing shelf. The room is empty and so
It remains, but still you wonder why
It must be so. Empty day, after day, after day.