Lies a large iron key, all covered in rust.
Holding the power to open a door
That has seldom been held open before.
Inside it's lock it uneasily groans,
It waits there, frozen, as though made from stone.
Held by hands, cautious, shaking
Brand new fears are monsters waking.
Hands are frozen, locked in place,
And then, with the utmost grace,
They hang the key upon the door
Storing secrets away once more, once more.