At the top of the stairs and the end of the hall,
Is a doorway to wonder and the pith of it all.
I have lived a long life, and I’ve lived it well,
But a life isn’t over with a story to tell.
So I set to work justly with my ink and my pen,
And I draw and I write and remember when…
But there has to be more to this door in the hall,
A studio’s not just a hole in the wall.
I write about Seuss and his silly red rhymes,
And I think and I write and remember the times…
And the verse can come faster, or the verse can come slow
But the verse is about all the things that you know,
And you must pass it on to them that come after,
And you post your ideas on door, wall, and rafter.
And when the long day finally comes to its end,
There will be a sharing with a good ear to bend,
And a book, or two books, or three they can read,
That reveal all the secrets that they’ll ever need.