There was a squeak at the door.
It was a bird at the door.
It pecked on the door.
It was a rap. rapping on the door.
The noise, then slowed down to the core.
It looked strange more and more.
The bird stopped tapping at the door.
It moved away from the door.
It then rose up in a soar.
It flew high up in the fore.
It looked familiar more and more.
Meenas Poems 
One reply on “Strange it is.”
would make one think of a lost spirit…wouldn’t it.