My Questions
My questions are friends
That grab me as I go
Like bristling thistles with spikey seeds
They wander, flutter then stick.
There are the ones I was born with
That share every passing joy
They remember all birthdays
And wipe every stinging or bitter tear.
Some I rarely see as they are kept
Hidden for when times get tough
Then gentle hedges they grow around me
Strong safe girds along tricky and treacherous paths.
Then some are stealthy creepers
This kind are only seen at night
Yet their sneak is not to haunt or taunt
It is simply to see if I am sad.
I know that a few cannot be friendly
As they are sworn never to stoop nor stay
On approach they search for my acknowledging eye
Then deftly they slip and gently slide away.
But my favourites are the silent ones
That somehow still find my ear
Caressing my lobe and whispering
Sweet truths as yet unheard.
My delight is that all come kindly
Cast in garbs curious and bright
Beckoning and signalling for attention
Lest distracted I might miss their spiriting flight.