Friday, August 04, 2006
His prison cell a mind too small
To hold the thought of grace,
Where lies no sentence can recall,
And fear and boredom pace–
The walls are tall and stout the door
That keeps the quiet in
'Til sense relents and grants the floor
Its stony discipline.
Upon a time the Jailer came
And offered his release,
But found that shame had made him lame
So left him there in peace.
© 2006 Jeffrey Hull