I put shrinking rage into a cage
at the bottom of the sea,
gave two bubbles as companions
which made it float like a bee.

Sixty years later after many tides' lap,
my child before me will ask,
"Who is that bird who against your cage taps?
Is it looking to get free?"

Wrinkly old me will twiddle his thumbs
rub his temples for a bit and say,
"From that question, another riddle,
now go run along and play."

Then in the slanted evening light
a jumping will spider hail,
Where I'll slouch down to look at her eyes
as she sits on an oxidized rail.