The doorbell needed to be fixed.
There was no one who could fix it.
The doorbell had a life of its own.
It went off on its own every hour,
When there was no one at the door.
The last person who pressed the switch,
Received a shock that sent him flying.
The doorbell liked some people and not others,
It liked all the sisters, but not their brothers.
This doorbell was special, there were no others.
The broken doorbell was a hindrance.
It annoyed everyone in the neighbourhood.
It rang continuously on some days.
This was tiresome and not so good.
It was a plastic one, not made of wood.
The broken doorbell was fixed one day.
Paradise was fixed and was here to stay.
The doorbell was now quieter and sweeter.
It was now lovingly called the local tweeter.
Paradise was broken, and it was fixed to stay that way.
A real knocker. What’s the password?