This world it cruel to use its name
Its ruler has a heart of stone,
Yet all its prisons that I’ve seen
There’s one that’s worse, that stands alone.
Its cells of grief are cold I know
Its bars are strong with rusty stains,
Yet cell on cell with trouble soul
Could not compare with simple chains.
I stand before my window’s glass
There are no bars to block my view,
There is no lock upon my door
No guard that would I run pursue.
I stand and watch the breaking dawn
Its beauty call to me to write,
Yet when I reach to take y pen
I feel the heavy chains pull tight.
Though many walled my prison cell
And bar less every window frame,
The chains of time have bound my wrists
Its shackles on each step a strain.
Though fall may linger by my door
And leaves may carpet all the grass,
I look with wish on wish to write
Through prison windows barred with glass.