a poem by Phillip Joseph Hussey, UK

The strangeness of the thought
Mingles gently with the mystery
Of the destiny of man and men
It creates a shadow in my mind
As I ponder hopelessly
Standing amongst scattered waters
Washing my bronze physique
Scented perfume from bitter soap
Springs from my goose pimpled skin
As little fishlings do nibble so
The tiny hairs in ceaseless growth
That wave and weave
In the murky troubled water
Such things common things alike
My mind can grasp even perceive
Yet never never can it fathom
The mystery of the destiny of man
Indeed it is a secret to behold
Make no attempt to endure it

- o o – o o – o o -

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