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My Prisoner Dream

I dreamed I met a prisoner,
His movements love-enraptured.
I asked him why he moved so free,
Knowing he was captured.

"You mean," he said, and looked at me
as though I were his lover,
"How can a book kept by a crook
Retain its shining cover?"

I looked at him and then the floor,
My hands fell to my side,
"You mean the words cannot be chained?"
I dropped my whip and cried.

Canadave