But there is no summer breeze in the evening,
listlessly moving the un-locked gate.
No sun-kissed children soaring on swings,
or wool-wrapped ladies, rocking in chairs.
No bundled-up babies napping within,
or playful pups chasing the last of the leaves.
There is no country house in this home,
of crowded and cramped muscle and bone.
A nervous creature kept in a frame,
flapping its wings against iron and rib.
still the body keeps trying to fly
No comments:
Post a Comment