Doormat

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Doormat

When you want to come in from outside and get clean,
I'll rub you down till you're ready to get off of me.
Just leave all of your filth, babe, with me at the door--
'cause my day's made when you tread me into the floor.
Threadbare and bald one day I may be, but not yet.
Bristles firm, I stay taking your mud and your wet.
And feeling your heavy, manly heels rake my face
let me know I am used-- I have purpose, have place:
a place only I can call home if you'll let me.
So let me. You know I don't need much; I'm steady,
stained ever so slightly, but still match your decor,
and you would miss me not kissing your feet at the door.

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Poetry is what is lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

morgainecnyll’s Poems (45)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Doormat 0
Sonnet X 0
Options 0
The Perfect Metaphor 0
Bystander outside Arby's 0
The One 0
2:00 A.M. and unable to sleep 1
For Alex 0
If love was meant... 3
Consummation 3
Why I am Silent 0
Wanderjahr 0
Elysium Fields for You (In loving memory of James Patrick Garis, i.e. Uncle Jim) 0
Nebulaic 1
hush 0
Clarification
s, Pt. 1: Love
1
The Fall 0
Immobile; Narcissus, dying. 0
Phasing 0
liminal 0
Why I am Silent 0
Tsavorite (Sonnet VII) 0
Christmas for Franklin 0
John Brown was a Strange Father 0
This Purpose 0
Revelation 1
Prodigal Revisted 2
the climb 1
random 1
untitled 0
sonnet 8 2
untitled 2
Fairy Tail 0
thoughtless 0
Feb. 3, 2008 : The Beloved Son 0
Sonnet 6 0
April 22, 2007-- Sonnet V 0
Ophelia 3
July2006—Hi
nc illae lacrimae
0
June 27, 2006- The Hollow Cost 0
Amor Vincit Omnia (In Wilfred Owen Style) 2
April 26, 2006—Phenom
anon
0
April 7, 2006—Sonnet III 2
February 29/March 2 2004— the Stirring 1
Mechanical 1