Door Knob

The door knob needs its space,
A stark figure ignored in disgrace.
Watching all from its humble place,
Turning a world when it opens its face.
The birth of a girl with hands hardly open,
The death of the granny with hands wide.
The grime of the day brought by father,
The warmth of tea ushered in by mother.
The torrid rain which swept away an ant,
The merciless sun falling on worker without grant.
It has smiled at the way a young boy wrote,
It has cheered whenever the family raised a toast.
A vast life full of hope it has lived,
Never wondering whom to tell of its own life in sieve.
Sane or insane one might think,
The door knob has always taken the sour drink.