Sunday, November 1, 2015

BOB STRUM


Bob strum

MY LIFE AS A SNAIL
I live in a house.
My house.
I am the only occupant.
It has many rooms,
Furnished in different ways,
Each with an atmosphere
Of its own.
Of course the rooms
Are linked by doors.
I can usually pass
From one room to another,
But not always.
Some are locked.
Some hidden away.
Inaccessible,
Yet transmitting
Distinctive odours.
Most have windows.
I can see the world,
But the world cannot
Look in.
Each room
Works its magic
On the windows,
Influencing
What I can and cannot see.
Like a snail
I carry house
With me.
I can withdraw into it,
Hide and contemplate.
Each of us slides along
Attached to their house.
Strange that nobody else
Can notice it is there.

Bob Strum

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