how often do i look out the window from this plain, blank world?
how often do i wonder how it would be like to frolic out in fields of violets, breathing the sweet sent of nature?
too often my friend, all too often.
this cold man-made shelter is no place for me.
i need the breeze in my hair and pretty bird chirps in my ear.
all too often do i stare out the window and dream of the outside world of sun.
and i remember once when i lay in bed, my eyes refused to shut, and where else would my eyes like to look but that precious window.
and to my amazement, the sun was gone!
the rays had vanished and darkness filled the sky,
yet up there a ball of white hung,
along with sprinkles and sparks that twinkled in my eye.
finally asleep did i fall and when i awoke, that window was gone,
bricked over and freshly painted.
that was the last time i thought of the outside world 'till now, 'till they let me out with my age, so old.
the green is greener,
violets are violettier,
everything better and clearer,
here in the outside world.