Once, if it please thee,
snip back hedgelings overgrown
to reveal in a silent plea
the child who's all alone.

Fought for freedom to forget,
finding fear that seems aught of time,
her wisping tendrils wrapped twice, twice yet
round her throat with reason and rhyme.

To love is to look,
like an unbequeathed shield
for a ring or a hook
that will help thee to yield.

But yielding is not for the feinted of heart
or for the young vain and trampled,
for in my own heart i feel set apart
and no longer feel life is ample.