The old key hung from a nail
in my grandmother’s small home.
Years left a key shaped mark
on the wall beneath.
What does it unlock?
The question never asked
until I was older.
Gram just smiled,
said I’d understand someday.
Was it for a door?
Her one true love,
passed years before,
sudden and unexpected.
Perhaps his hands had driven the nail,
tied the string,
hung the key.
It waited silently for its purpose.
Gram died on a cold winter day,
alone in her chair,
hands folded,
a smile,
the old key upon her chest.
I understood.
The key had found its purpose.
The unseen door unlocked,
her love patiently waiting.
Hand in hand,
they walked into that eternal life.
Together forever.
That key shaped mark on the wall?
Only the nail remained.
Adding your comment:
beautifully put
Beauty-full, Cowboy. 
