The lake is glass, the trees are still
And I, on the opposite side, will row this boat
My vessel of fear
Until the lonely shore becomes near
To get closer to thee

My oar is dripping
With the liquid gold of eons before me
And of the ladies past who made the same trek.
As I make it to shore,
Like never before I feel a stillness beneath me
And the steps I take to lessen the distance still become harder and
Harder,
Yet carry on I must, to progress my life much farther

The door creaks
And the windows squeak
As I enter through the way
Into the house of ages past and darkness never known
Where I will find you on my own,
An ending of beginning
A close at the opening of a door