Strange

Strange are the ways we do not know
Like the eyes that fly to distant shores
To see things not seen before

Strange are those who are not me
Through their eyes though 
I'm as strange as strange could be

The snow falls gently on the rain covered grass
With echos of dripping
Through the door made of glass

Strange is the mind with its enchanting visions of snow covered hills
And icy reflections

1 angel sleeps at the ends of my feet
1 sighs quietly to not skip a beat
Another barks intensely as a squirrel crosses the street

Strange how boredom comes then it goes
How the mind thinks and what it shows
Like the weather on this day
The mind is full of strange games
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

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