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| 'Another Place?' by Trish |
I can't help, but feel, I've known this place before,
Not now and again, or once or twice, many times I'm sure. The place just stays like this, nothing, must ever, Change.
And I suppose that's why, there's an? an air about It, that's weird and strange.
The leaves are always green, as are the trees.
Nothing ever moves, because there's never a Breeze.
The path that seems as if it's there, is always White,
It shines, brighter than the moon, even on the Darkest night.
I can recall, I think? a mighty green-grassy hill,
It may be there, but might have moved,
It's rarely ever still.
It's the only thing in this place, allowed to move about,
Its a sort of green jailer, whose job is, to keep some folk
In and other folk out.
Again, I must ponder, on how I know these things
One minute it's angels, with torn and tatty wings,
The next is? now here's where I get completely stuck,
Whatever the next minute,brings, seems to be
Up to, bad or good luck? Tushie
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