Not at rainbows end but over it.
Where Bluebirds sing a song for us,
and not for the flock they fly within.
When dreaming of OZ,
I meet strangeness around every bend.
Where understanding comes,
from meeting what once was strange.
And in that realization I find that I am home again.
© Copyright 2019 LE. Berry. All rights reserved.
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Poem / Humor
Bert Broomberg