Poetry

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Not so strange to say,there's a journey for every  one;no booking needed its ever conceded,
turning about and inwardly too;all connects with a different view,some unlikely yet quite true;
flats,bedsit's and some stairs with exits,doors are like an entrance shut,slip right in you're in  a mini
kitchen then,a cubby hole;life can be droll,can't be bought like inner thought,in transport mode
what lenght of road,with promised abode;work is nigh to-morrow's another try,who wants a color
make up any dyeamen say's why,on GOD RELY.
Joe.

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