To see the light yet never find the way

is virtually a living death. She longs

to glide through golden rays one summer day

in nectar haze; to hear the starlings songs

and flit in tune through fields in bloom; what scope

for joy - the light should lead her there! To see

the light inspires a dream and sense of hope

her captor will consent to set her free.

What sin denies the opportunity?

Inside a flower pot, beneath the spots

on wasted symbols of her liberty,

a crumpled chrysalis of childhood rots.