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by Linda Ann Nickerson

A FAMILIAR WAY

There's something strange behind that door;
I think I've passed through here before.
If memory serves, twas long ago,
When time elapsed not fast, but slow.

The handle looks familiar here,
And I recall the atmosphere.
Does danger lurk behind this wall,
When I shall enter from the hall?

Will others welcome me within,
When I shall recollect again?
I cannot tell from here, so far,
But wait, the door is now ajar!

The threshold beckons, "Step inside!"
My curiosity is tried.
And so, with deja vu, I see,
That I've been sleepwalking, home free.

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Poetry: Deja Vu

by Linda Ann Nickerson

Poetry: Deja Vu

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