Love Song for Mr. & Mrs. Atkins

Between two rooms stands a wall, and a door
That opens to allow something to pass
From one side to the other when it must,
And closes when something must be shut out.
The work is labored by the simple hinge,
Unnoticed until under weight and use
Begins to loosen from the force it feels,
And squeaking hinge is blamed for unclosed door.
But hinge is not the hinge without the screw
That fastens polished brass to solid oak,
And will not let the hinge fall from its place.
Sharp and long, she digs her fingers down
To keep the hinge from failing in its use.
Screw it tightly, hold it into wood.