Mid storm and rain stood I
that fateful winter's eve
cemented in the rye,
my hair the wind did weave.

Inside a jar of glass...
a prison in my mind...
outside did mortals pass--
neglected, my heart pined.

Longing for escape, I,
my cage, I rattled, shook--
freedom was not mine. Why?
A thief my heart had took!

Confined behind the glass,
he put me there and ran,
to gaze out at the mass--
my anger left to fan.

Since then, still here I stand,
river tears dry and spent...
no help, no outstretched hand...
my saving grace unsent.

Who, then, will brave my storm?
Who in the crowd will start
for my glass cage to warm
and calm tumultuous heart?

It came so unexpected
the call of music low
'for I knew I was affected
I started soft and slow

It moved within my chest
as though another heartbeat
a command behind my breast
brought me rising from the seat

and sent my body swaying
to the plucky, steady tone
of mambo music playing
resounding through my bone

my foot stepped sideways
the movement flowing through
forsaking the ballets
of angels that I knew

And in that moment when
the world was mine alone
I found myself again--
the sacred truth unknown

There was a man named J.P. Dare
who was troubled, but he didn't care.
When his daughter was ten
she said to him then,
"Aren't good daddies rare?"