He wouldn't give up, he knew a great treasure was known
to be hidden beyond the door
So he rubbed his sore hands and rested, then he knocked
and he knocked 'til he could knock no more.

He sat down to rest and he started to think
“perhaps the great treasure is really quite small.
I've done without it 'til now after all;
we have all done without it since the great fall.”

But he'd been there so long, he just couldn't give up
So he stood and he tried it once more.
He knocked and he knocked at the great wooden door.
He knocked and he knocked 'til his hands were too sore.

Than he sat and rested and racked his brain: why is
no one coming to let me in?
Surely there must be someone inside to guard a treasure so Great?
If I can't get inside, how can I possibly win?

So he stood up again and wiped blood from his knuckles
and knocked on the door once again.
He knocked and he knocked and he knocked at the door,
still nobody came from within.

This place is abandoned, the treasure now gone
that's the only solution I see.
If no one will come to answer the door, than there must
not be anything in there for me.

So he walked away sadly, giving up on the dream
there was nothing inside like before.
And he never noticed the small sign that read:
“Turn the latch and come on in” that had fallen off of the door.


This poem still needs work, but I decided to go ahead and post this version since I haven't posted anything on this blog for quite a while.  I can always add an updated version later.