The Strange Boy

A strange little boy, a curious sight. With dark hair that danced like the shadows at night, With eyes that sparkled with stories of light. While others would play in the fields and the trees, He'd sit by himself, lost in whispers and dreams. With a notebook in hand, he’d scribble with ease, Creating grand worlds that would float on the breeze. His tales were of dragons, of magic, and flight, Of heroes who battled through darkness and fright. Though the kids laughed and teased, he held on tight, To the stories he spun, like stars in the night. As seasons went by, his skills grew so fine, Each word that he penned was a treasure, a sign. With tears of frustration, he’d write and refine, For the boy knew his passion was truly divine. Years rolled along, and the boy turned to man, With dreams of a future, he crafted a plan. He applied to a college, where stories began, To flourish and bloom, like a well-tended span. Now in the halls where the wise often tread, He writes about love and loss, his heart leads the way, he'll never be lost. Now the strange little boy, with his dark hair on his head, Is living his dream, where his passions are fed. So if you should meet him, with stories to share, Remember the boy who once sat in despair. For the magic of writing, with love and with care, Can turn strange little dreams into wonders so rare.