The Looking Glass

Through my window
I watch the world.
The people go by
as the sun drifts through the sky.
I see the squirrels play
and the seasons change too.
The world just keeps on going,
even while its snowing,
and I just watch.
I'm apart from this world,
the place so many call home.
This earth is not my own.
I belong somewhere else.
So I listen to the passersby.
I do not belong with them.
No. I am a part of my own system.
The place I belong
is much different from this earth.
Its clean and warm,
and a place no evil shall swarm.