The noise and dirt of the village road,
Drew him away towards the forest path,
The green of the meadows, the smell of the woods,
The enchantress of the forest’s abode.

The enchantress of the forest knew,
The unsuspecting that walked her way,
She lured him down that winding path,
Upon the meadows with cursed dew.

The curse fell on him quick and fast,
Before he knew it, he was bound,
Imprisoned and confined in a cage of glass,
Trapped in the confines for eternities to last.

He wept and cried and shouted aloud,
But his cries were all in vain,
The days and nights went scurrying by,
As he lay there in misery’s shroud. 

The potent magic of the enchantress drained,
His life, his spirit, his happy thoughts,
But kept him from ever embracing Death,
Dregs of his past were all that remained.

The sky was grey; the land was bleak,
The horizon engulfed the setting sun,
The trees of hope had long withered,
He knew not what he wished to seek.

In tragic grief and forlorn loss,
His dreary eyes saw the days pass by,
As the waters welling in the pearls of his mind,
Dashed on the shores of forgotten dross.

On just another gloomy morn,
His cage vanished in wispy smoke,
He knew not what had set him free,
As he walked over bush and prickly thorn.

His will was lost, sorry was his state,
His broken shards he could not find,
Days of hope were long forgotten,
And he had resigned to his melancholy fate.

Too lost to speak or even think,
He just walked down the dirt trail,
What was his life of freedom now?
A fleeting escape from Death’s slink?

.    .    .