The people in white rush past

my room, murmurs of

"a verily worrisome disaster"

"verily, ill fortune"

float and fly through the air

pearled feminine tones making

masks wither with sounds

I call to be let out and I take

careful, dainty steps

out of my small cage

and into a bigger one

The Attendants crouch

on the fringe of the boxed garden

Heads bowed and silent;

I reach out with my small hands

running fingertips upon the leaves

of the camellia bush