"The unexpected becomes expected."
My father once showed me Where maelstroms go to die. Great big swirls and bother, Turned wrinkled and white. I asked him, "Dad, Are they to be In paradise tonight?" "No son, not maelstroms, Turned wrinkled and white, They go to Pluto And die in the ice." I prayed, there, For old maelstroms, All wrinkled and white. Then went back home, To catch the settling night In my net of gossamer wings And let it take flight.
This poem written by W. Doug Bolden.
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