The Happy Prisoner

He sat in a tower
A blank pad
With a pen in hand
An empty room
With a window into blue.

There was nothing.
Even the sun which shone
It did not reach his corner
And the smell of the wind in the wheat
It passed the tower by
While the river flowed around foundation stones
He sat in silence while silent walls stared.

But then,
A sound of wings
White feathers
A dove that flew and gently landed
Perched upon the window sill,
Turned her head and cooed.

The sky was still a wide expanse
The room was empty like before
And the wind still circled round
But as he sat
He smiled
He bent over writing
The sound of pen on paper.

The man he wrote
Looked and listened,
The dove was there

Perched upon the window sill,
Turned her head and cooed.