Go and open the red door,
maybe a chilli is burning someone’s mouth,
flames are spreading quickly
or lava drips down a volcano.
Go and open the orange door,
maybe baked beans sit in a can,
a basketball spinning round on an invisible finger
or oranges fall off a tree.
Go and open the yellow door,
maybe the sun will blind you,
a dozen ducklings swimming in a small lodge
or a giraffe’s neck staring at you.
Go and open green the door,
maybe a desert lined with cactuses await,
lizards lurking in sand dunes
or Ivy curling around a tree.
Go and open the blue door,
maybe a lapis eye glares back,
a wardrobe of jeans,
or water rushes down a glistening waterfall.
Go and open the black door,
maybe a mine shaft lurks ahead,
maybe it’s covered with spiders and bats,
or thunderclouds race over your head.
Go and open the white door,
maybe doves sit in a nest of twigs,
or a field of sheep in the snow.
Go and open the brown door,
maybe a bar sits there as chocolate melts out of the other side,
or a dog with a stick waits, ready to be played with.
Go and open the pink door,
maybe a lake with an abundance of flamingos lays there, ripples going moving it,
or piglets sniff tulips with a round, delicate nose.
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