perfect timing

a shortish poemy thingymabob

As I sit alone on the top of the world,
The bottom, the side,
The beginning and the end.
I start to wander,
To think, to know,
About an enemy who is also a friend.

Then it comes, with perfect timing,
With the rythm of a song and the elegance of rhyming,
Bending ifself into infinite shapes,
It opens the curtains, the blinds, the drapes.

It will come and it will go,
But it will always be so.