Countless Wonder

When countless winds have passed us by,
and watching, hidden, bluebirds sigh,
one begins to wonder
just what the world might mean.

But who am I to question
the way our world works?
Full of countless wonders
and always unknown quirks.

Or who am I to question
those who pass us by?
Full of countless wonders
always reaching for the sky.

And who am I to question
the way we see the day?
Full of countless wonders
hiding secrets when it may.

When countless worlds have passed us by,
while watching, hidden, from the sky,
one begins to wonder
just what the world might mean.

Ah, who am I to question
the mysteries of life?
Full of countless wonders,
and much unending strife.

by Csriena Weaver

Other poems of WEAVER (3)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.