There was a place I knew well,

held a ribbon around its gate.

When once ‘I saw her standing

there,’ a look of sublime elegance.

I remember her attractive posture,

displaying only her ingenuous nature.

And there it is again, seems right,

when lost in retrospect she does come

calling with sweet psychic mystique.

Like I’m waiting to know more,

when only she can retell the story.

When might you open the door?