In twilight\'s hush, where shadows play,
A tiny captive longs to break away,
A fairy trapped, with wings so fine,
Yearns for the freedom of the open vine.
Her iridescent scales, like jewels bright,
Reflect the moon\'s pale, silvery light,
Her delicate hands, with fingers so small,
Clutch the rim of her glassy wall.
The jar, a prison, cold and grey,
Constricts her spirit, night and day,
She dreams of skies, where clouds drift by,
And sunbeams dance, with a gentle sigh.
Her voice, a whisper, soft and low,
Echoes through the empty air below,
A plaintive cry, a sorrowful refrain,
As she implores the world to set her free again.
Oh, cruel fate, that binds her thus,
A prisoner of glass, with no gentle fuss,
Can\'t you see, her heart beats with desire,
To soar on winds, and set her spirit on fire?
The jar, a barrier, strong and tight,
Holds her captive, without a fight,
But still she hopes, with a glimmer of light,
That someday soon, she\'ll take to the night.
And when that day arrives, oh blissful sight,
She\'ll spread her wings, and take to the light,
And leave behind, this prison of old,
To dance among the stars, with a tale to be told.