Out of Lock
If keys should lurch
From out our care,
Then spare the search:
They are not there.
So cars and gates
And unwound clocks
Have naught to sate
Their hungry locks.
The keys are lost,
They won’t be found –
For dropped or tossed,
They’ve gone to ground.
These keys live on,
They are not dead –
They’re gutter-gone
And softly fled.
Rhyming Couplets 