Strange

by Mildred Bowers Armstrong

Strange - to grow up and not be different
Not beautiful, or even very wise...
No winging-out the way of butterflies,
No sudden blindfold-lifting from the eyes,
Strange - to grow up and still be wondering,
Reverent at petals and snow,
Still holding breath,
Still often tiptoe,
Questioning dew and stars,
Wanting to know!