Death is only an old door/Set in a garden wall.

- Nancy Byrd Turner

The Bookshop has a thousand books, All colors, hues, and tinges, And every cover is a door That turns on magic hinges.

- Nancy Byrd Turner

Death is only an old door Set in a garden wall; On quiet hinges it gives, at dusk When the thrushes call. Along the lintel are green leaves, Beyond, …

- Nancy Byrd Turner

Under our thatch, friend, place shall abide for you, touch but the latch, friend, the door will swing wide for you!

- Nancy Byrd Turner

Oh, heart, let's never grow too old To smile anew, when Christmas comes, At tassels red and tinsel thread, And tarlatan bags f sugarplums.

- Nancy Byrd Turner

Easter's nearly here, now - Sing, world, sing!

- Nancy Byrd Turner