Glide forth to embed the extended blade,
(the right fit, matched to its sheathing).
Slid upon graphite, pushed inside the Maide,
(finding the clicks of her Lock -- all hidden feelings).
His Key slips home into a foreign, oiled milieu,
(geared tight to match, mesh, and turn together).
For the parts all move as inner couplings do,
(tripping springs -- throwing open bolts, but better).
Encased within the workings of this machine,
there is movement without sound on sound:
to convey what no musical notes can mean,
(played silent when ‘er whole-rests abound).
The Key and Lock engage, and marry now…
(while brass bells ring by keeping time).
And Church doors open then close aloud…
(for both the Lock, and the Key -- are mine)!
Note: 'locksmith's daughter': 19th-century slang for a key.
Copyright ©2006 – Robert C. Kuhmann -- All Rights Reserved