She Moves In A Mysterious Way


She moves, in a mysterious way.

Left, left, left and then right;
From break of day

To fall of night;

Humming a tune from ‘Les Mis’ (as you do)

But humming it backwards,

She gives us no clue

As to where she is from,

And where she goes to –
She moves, in mysterious ways.
At night and throughout the days

Hopping occasionally on one leg or t’other

She doesn’t step 

On the cracks

On the pavement

On the…

Off-chance

That the Devil will grab her;
She moves, in mysterious ways.
On coastal paths

She visits the bays

And hands out cold comfort on invisible trays;

Asking no questions

And telling no lies,

Seeing all things

Through her two moonshot eyes –
She moves, in mysterious ways.
And then

One day

She moved no more

She never washed-up

The tea-things

That washed up

Upon a sad shore;

Never trod the light fantastic, or waltzed upon a bus.

There she was… 

Gone.

And there was…

No…

Fuss.
She used to move, in mysterious ways.
And now the echoes of her footsteps 

Diminish in the haze.

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