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?