Old Keys

Always puzzled to find them,
in kitchen drawers, chipped cupboards,
back of the tool-bench,
in the pocket of a worn coat.

Different sizes, different shapes,
Discolored brass, scratched steel,
Even an old iron one -— now scrap
I can’t throw out.

No idea what they open,
no idea why they’re kept.
One on a piece of twine,
another marked with faded tape.

Even on my active ring,
There hangs a key I never use.
Is there a door locked forever?
Or a gate open for good?