Depression's Pot

She fell into depression's pot (an easy thing to do) where darkness is, and light is not (I'm sure you've done it too) She wallowed in the shadow's jell (with three birds and a cat) where sticky feelings tend to dwell (I'm sure you've heard of that) She wrote her name upon the wall (with pencil and a pen) in case her friends should come to call (She never had a friend) She laughed her echoes into air (to share in conversation) where darkness is, I know not where (She sent no invitation) She fell into a fitful sleep (there is no other kind) where life is just a time to keep (that really keeps your mind) She sorted dreams out as she slept (a job which knows no pay) and talked in sleep of vows she kept (for what else could she say) She woke to find depression's pot (as vessels sometimes do) had grown too small for all she'd got (I'm sure you'd notice too) She banged her fists against the frame (a sorry sight indeed) and taught the birds to say her name (for somehow she'd be freed) She sent the birds into the air (and that's when they found me) She heard an echoed voice of care (I'd come to set her free) She now has tossed depression's pot (I shouldn't tell you where) and happiness is all she's got (with plenty left to share)