The Captive, Freed

What lies beyond yon glassy door?

What makes the golden light it holds?

Is there a world beyond? Dare I believe?

I had to know, and so I ran

when finally a chance I had:

the door left open, on a Christmas Eve. . .

That fateful eve, the stars so bright,

the air so sharp with crisp delight,

I bounded down the walk as through the sky.

The house behind me all aglow,

the people darting to and fro

were far too busy; no one marked me fly.

Under a bush, across the lawn,

squeeze through the fence, and I was gone,

alone with naught but snow beneath my paws.

This world so vast was mine to wander,

mine to glory in and ponder—

till there came a noise that raised my claws.

Faster than thought a great machine

appeared where only air had been.

Its eyes glowed white; its snarling engine hissed.

Transfixed was I, and in my fright

'twas not an act within my might

but cow'ring down and hoping I’d be missed.

And so I did, and so I prayed

to he they say was born that day,

for mercy on my curiosity.

Did he answer? I’m not sure,

for now it hurts even to purr,

but in these words perhaps there’s poetry?