The doors make an enclosure,
But not so for the mind,
It flies into the distance,
A special place to find,
No barrier can contain it,
It's free as proverbial air,
To be wafted gently on the wind
And land, just anywhere,
To wander on the moorland,
Where spirits can rejoice,
In the wonder of the solitude,
Where there's no human voice,
Confined within a City,
Yet the spirit may soar afar,
Away from noisy traffic,
To where sweet meadows are,
The soul can make the journey
To refresh a troubled mind,
To wander moor or woodland,
Fresh sustenance to find,
Open wide the unseen windows
And let the spirit soar,
To a peaceful new location,
Not enclosed by any door.