Her fingers met the bars
As she reached out.
In the corral of gold,
Merry, she was
Presumed to be.
The essence of bliss-
She envisaged, beneath her
Companions’ veil of obsequious nescience.
Disinclined to abide canons,
Bizarre she was
To the lesser eccentrics.
Confronted with many a dissent,
Her hope of a vicissitude
Dwindled into nihility !
Not at her volition
She took a decision.
Her soul partly with her goal,
A spurious smile she adorned
To face the world.
1 comment:
u've very good choice of words..
ur using rochet to the maxim.
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