Salted trail of tears
On a baby doll
Leaning in a corner
Of our Childhood Room:
Could we but have seen
That youthful dreams would not be free.
Down, around the years the Cage we hear
While against the window panes we lean.
Try as we might
The wings of dream to beat in flight -
Down the Cage falls, much too soon -
Feathers in the gloom.
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