The Prisoner

Penned in close by wooden walls,
Around the prison yard she crawls;
For food and drink she never calls…

The fickle sun’s her only quest;
Bright summer skies make her feel blessed.
With hunched back warm she takes her rest…

Unlike abodes of rich men’s daughters,
A tiny shed serves for her quarters –
But Ugo’s only Ruben’s tortoise.

Thakeham, July 2007