Strange is an adjective, To name not the norm, If fish leapt straight into the sky, And flew in a rainbow swarm.
Strange is the darkness, On a fine midsummer's day, If suddenly the moon rose up, And all the sunshine went away.
Strange is the talking tree, A jabbering butter bean, All the things that aren't quite right, Things not what they seem.
Strange is what ought not be, Such as; a fashionable teacher, A musician who can hold no tune, Or, an agnostic preacher.
By its nature, strange is rare, Uncommon in daily life, Like if all at once we stabbed with spoons, And ate custard with a knife.
But all the time, strange is there, Winks in and out of sense, Here one minute, gone the next, And flits from tense to tense.
So if you see a strange occurrence, Watch it still and quiet, Hold it firmly in your mind, Lest you later try deny it.
Pray - write it down, or tell us all, Imagine what it might mean, Never let strangeness disappear, And twinkle into a dream.