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| CABIN FEVER I don�t like the cold winter wind, The warm spring breeze is more my style: the softest of towels caressing my face as I surrender to a cool, grassy isle. A prisoner yearns only to feel the sun; on my face I can feel only frustration, staring off at an endless sea of gloomy gray. My kingdom for a spark of sensation! I look down and see crescents dug into my palms. Latent, explosive energy builds up inside. I pray every day for the life that spring brings and every day I cannot find the sun that hides. Like a wild animal in a cage too small, I�d claw my hands bloody just to break free. Please don�t tease me with just a taste: a day of sun. How soon �till spring comes? How soon �till again I can be? |
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