The old knocker found in the falling down barn
was a Victorian cherub knocker from long ago
How it got there no one knew
Time had left a film of neglect on the heavenly faces
Over the years it had mixed with water
The rust had fused the iron handle shut
The knocker was now impossible to knock
I thought how sad it must be to be a knocker no longer able to be knocked
How did the little angels feel about being stuck, shut, closed, frozen?
No longer hanging on the doorway of a forgotten home
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