poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2010


Isn't it strange?
How the times slowly change
How the trees shift shade
How the shadows rearange

How the cages wither down
To the soiled suddle ground
How the warmth rises slowly
And the light dances around

Aint it weird?
How the hares skip dearly
Over frozen falls over dry creaks
The ice glimmers clearly

The water falls
Upon walls of stone
Underneath it rumbels silence
Fish swim swift through plants of bone
And death

In the skies an angel watches over our lives
Waits by the gates and welcomes us

We are not alone we're not dead
We simply turn in our bed
A new page in a new chapter
We dread

A new life - a new beginning - a new time
Times change. Isn't it ackward, isn't it odd.
Isn't it strange.