The doors

Go and open the vermillion door,

Maybe there is a ripe,

Fresh and delicious peach,

Or the sadness of finding your great grans old scarf,

And the memories it brings.


Go and open the baby blue door,

Maybe you will find the joy

Of robins eggs,

Or maybe you will find sorrow

with a tear running down your face.


Go and open the albino door,

Maybe you will find and untroubled

snowy morning,

Or being down-hearted realising there is only

A few albino giraffes left.


Go and open the papaya door,

maybe  you will find the thrills

Of a race car,

Or the wonders  a parrot, 

beautiful and delicate.


Go and open the scarlet door,

maybe you will find the fantasy of owning

a ruby is real,

Or the misery of falling over

And losing blood.


Go and open the obsidian door,

maybe you will find a witches dungeon,

or distress of having a horrible,

Awful feeling in your mind.


Go and open the basil door,

Maybe you will find the greed

And jealousy of emeralds,

Or the mildew on the fresh grass.


Go and open the violet door,

maybe you will find smell

Of calming sweet lavender

Or the sour stench of 

raw red onions.

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