I look out through the panes of glass,
The leaves trembling in the meager breeze.
I am left feeling something is lacking;
I cannot feel the wind.
I look, and what more I see,
The birds singing with glee that I may only envy.
But something is amiss;
I cannot hear their song.
I look once more;
The flowers sway to a silent beat.
It is unfortunate,
For I cannot smell their bittersweet odor.
Again, I look, I see.
The ants scurry atop their hill.
And I am caged;
I cannot feel their sting.
My fingers dance across the fabric.
I draw the curtains, and I cannot see.