If we’re kept within a prison
there’s no lock can make us stay.
Lest our hapless, weary posture
simply let’s us waste away.
And if songs are sung around us
in the Winter or the Spring
But our voice is deathly silent
It’s not the fault of quieting.
When the wren darts to the sill plate
of the window we look out
And the song bursts from his small heart
lauding life and love, no doubt.
Dare we not release the handcuffs
which lock us down each day
And find somewhere within us
Something good or kind to say?
Reach out farther, oh my brother,
give your heart and mind a chance
Lift your spirit and your heels
It is your life, so why not dance?
Herb Ratliff, January 4, 2013, All Rights Reserved
I'd love to dance. Taking a few cautious steps now . . .
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