A heart of stone, and a mouth of lye,
Sits patiently in a rugged chair
By an open window that draws no air,
He sits, and he waits, and he ponders there.
The world just past the window pane,
Is serene and glorious and quiet and sane.
And full of birds that lull the grass to sleep,
And willows that watch the finches weep,
And where wolves tend to shepherds' sheep.
He seeks it.
But his past keeps him sitting there,
By the open window that draws no air,
In the confines of that wooden chair,
He sits, and he watches, with an empty stare.
-E.p.
© 2009
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