The Beauty Of The Cellar Door

It’s a little hard to find

If you don’t know where to look

Hidden well, at the end of small pantry hall

The old cellar door

It’s paint is now faded

And the small handle has tarnished to black

But in all it’s imperfections

Within the space it stands

Is the true hidden beauty

It opens with loud creeks

A sound which hisses of age

And exposes three small steps

The steps which lead down through

Old cobwebs, which are always head-high

And to the single light bulb

Just beyond sit the oak racks, filled with more webs and dust

With bottles from the 50’s, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s and 90’s

Room for about 160 in all

But the truly best keep here is not encased in glass

It’s burrowed deep in a dark corner

Easy to miss, if you don’t know to look for it

But we both know it’s their, you and I

The true beauty of what’s hidden

Behind the cellar door

A secret we said we’d never reveal

And now that you’re gone

I know for sure

Our secret will go to the grave

I grab what I came for

And steal a quick, innoculous glance to that forbidden corner

Safe and sound, just as it always will be

I turn out the light

Walk up the stairs

It’s too dark, damp and cold to stay

I listen to the sound as the door shuts

And reflect on the beauty, and of the secret

Hidden deep away

Behind the beauty of the cellar door

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