Your wild eyes, gold and glint-filled, long for freedom.
So, I cut you loose from thorns and tangles that tether you here just to watch you flee the valley shadows with a lean-limbed trot.
Those brambles clung so tight around your face and held you to the mud.
They remind me of the tight spots,
where we pull and push and the noose grips.
If only we kept still enough to see which way to tread,
we wouldn’t get ensnared.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved