On Weirdness

I know the place where I belong is somewhere wild and free;
a place where I can simply be that weird bloke who is me.
I’ve tried at times to be in this world but I don’t seem to fit
and every time I try to squeeze in I break the mould a bit.
So maybe now I’m old and my hair has all gone white
I can fit in as a ‘weird old man’ and it’ll be alright.
They’ll never know the crazy man’s a lifelong show;
this is really me, it’s who I am and all I know.
A seed that is sown to grow in the wrong field
not a weed but a crop with the strangest yield.
But in the final tally if I am ‘not right’
will I still be ‘different’or will I be alright.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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