The Window

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.