Sonnet

Since you would claim the sources of my thoughtRecall the meshes whence it sprang unlimed,The reedy traps which other hands have timedTo close upon it. Conjure up the hotBlaze that it cleared so cleanly, or the snowDevised to strike it down. It will be free.Whatever nets draw in to prison meAt length your eyes must turn to watch it go. My mouth, perhaps, may learn one thing too well,My body hear no echo save its own,Yet will the desperate mind, maddened and proud,Seek out the storm, escape the bitter spellThat we obey, strain to the wind, be thrownStraight to its freedom in the thunderous cloud.