The Little Patch of Sky

By John A. Wilson

I see a little patch of clear blue sky

And just the tops of half a dozen trees

I hear the droning hum of honeybees

And see an occasional butterfly

I stare out that window and softly sigh,

Minds can’t be controlled they do as they please.

My mind travels out over distant seas

My spirit is free although here I lie

I lie here in this fetid little cell

And stare at that hole up there on the wall

I’m too tired to struggle, too hoarse to yell

My body shackled to a chain and ball

A prisoner for life in this earthly hell

Until my day in Execution Hall