The old gate stood, slump'd and open,
Paint-faded and now frail,
The latch had many years since broken,
Inviting the well-worn trail;

The night held fast against the gate,
Pretending it would stay,
Cherish'd end would not await,
If night could have its way;

Inside the gate--a garden grew,
Adorn'd in rays of light,
Splash'd color in of every hue,
As the sun push'd out the night;

A gentle wind, its breath did call,
This gate into the sun,
And the gate that stood so close to all,
Did share it with the One.