Prisoner


	Beset by failure, shunning careless mirth,
	She wandered vaguely till the house of pride,
	Its windows spilling brightness to the earth,
	Revealed to her a massive door flung wide.
	Henceforth the peace that she had longed to find
	Was hers.  Then one day on the marble floor
	The latticed shadows, to her quickened mind,
	Betrayed the iron bars not seen before.

	Today she dreams that some blithe minstrel band
	Will serenade her, lift the heavy latch,
	And laughing, clasp her eager outstretched hand
	But dreaming thus, she knows the rusted catch
	Will move at no touch save her own -- and still
	She cannot mate her courage with her will.

			C. Elizabeth Sawyer