An Odd Day

This morning for the first time in a long time,
Yet more frequently than I care to realize,
When I searched for the door I couldn't find it.
The ivy too thickly grown - I suppose,
Or perhaps I've lost the knack.
Not that it matters anyway
For I seem to have misplaced the key.
And, come to think on it,
The robin has been strangely quiet of late.

I wandered far and wide - searched the entire wood
Hoping to find that one tree.
You know, the one with the crude sign
That reads -"Mr. Saunders".
Funny- I thought I knew the way so well.
But no sign - not even a scrap of paper
Extolling the virtues of
The lovely Rosalind
stuck upon an errant branch,
Did I find.

Later in the day I found myself searching,
Ostensibly for that lost key,
But in truth, for something farther back,
In the old wardrobe.
Mothball pungencies make for watery eyes-
No - a lie.
It is the lack of Narnic coolness under my hand
When I touch the worn wood of the back.
The lack of Tumnal laughter
Filtering through the knotholes.

In the garden I discovered a long forgotten rabbit-hole.
Reaching in up to the shoulder
I retrieved naught, but dead leaves,
A wisp of pale rabbit fur, a faded playing card-
(Queen of Hearts)
And a broken watch-fob.
Strange how they should be there-
Or sad, rather.
Unbidden, a snatch of song in my mind.
"Once you pass its borders you can never return again-"
What the hell does that mean?
I am not certain-
But it has the ring of truth.