If it weren’t normal
She’d be there,
Dressed up all formal,
Flowers in hair,
But not no rose
Nor lilies fine,
No, she grows
A crystal vine
That winds and winds
And winds and winds
Around the world
Then through her mind
And out her curls
It brightly shines,
Lighting her way
By subtle signs
From hidden strays
To rarest finds.

If it were weird
He’d do a jig
With curly beard
Of moss and twigs,
And sometimes mice
And sometimes bats
Would roost all nice
Up in his hat,
And always moose
And always deer
Would whisper clues
Into his ear
Of queerest things
He might discover,
Of course, this brings
Him word of her.

They were both odd
And lovely so.
They were both awed
By strange unknowns.
Both heard there were another
Like them in many ways.
A strangeness lover!
So they spent some days
Searching but were ever late
And never crossed their paths
By some trick of fate
Or maybe fortune’s wrath.
Each were happy knowing
The oddness of defeat.
If one thing kept them going
It’s that there were more to meet.