She stirs in her cell, unaware she’s free
The keyboards start to click in joyous dread;
For you, O useless reader, hold the key
To rouse this sleeping prisoner from her bed.
Accustomed to her dull imprisoned state
Unused to warmth, she babbles in her cage
She fears, at first, the freedom to create;
Awakening, our muse begins to rage
Across the warming threshold into light,
She strides as verses blossom on the page
To chastise and put winter’s ghosts to flight.
The thawing wind! She shakes her golden hair
And lyric pollination seeds the air . . .