by Brenna Smith
Your ways are strange to me.
You are a mystery.
Your beauty drew me in—
I looked, and saw my sin.
The pain could not repel;
My heart sang as I fell.
And then you went away—
But why, I could not say
Which caused the greatest pain,
To leave, or come again?
I love you even now,
Although I don’t know how.
You are a mystery.
Your ways are strange to me.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Brenna Smith is a writer, musician, and teacher born and raised in the Skagit Valley of Washington State and currently based out of Fort Worth, Texas. Her two proudest accomplishments are being impossible to find in hide-and-seek and memorizing Lucky's entire speech from Waiting for Godot.
Last updated April 11, 2025