by Arthur Stringer
Wide is the world and wide its open seas,
Yet I who fare from pole to pole remain
A prisoned Hope that paces ill at ease,
A captive Fear that fumbles with its chain.
I once for Freedom madly did aspire,
And stormed His bars in many a burst of rage:
But see, my Keeper with his brands of fire
Has cowed me quite . . . . and bade me love my cage!
Last updated January 14, 2019