I have a door,
I know no more,
But that it is hard to get through.
From what i can see,
It is somewhat me,
Somewhat the others too.
The windows are quite quality,
Shaped by years of reciprocity,
The flowers are well fed.
The mirrors there are many
For I reflected much, like any,
And the books in the walls are read.
The floors are green,
As if to seem,
That the glorious grass may grow.
The upstairs is tidy,
The basement is mighty,
A serious mess of mazes.
But if you look closely,
you'll see the beauty,
Of all the mysterious faces.
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