The Little Patch of Sky

The Little Patch of Sky
By John A. Wilson


I see a little patch of clear blue sky
And just the tops of half a dozen trees
I hear the droning hum of honeybees
And see an occasional butterfly

I stare out that window and softly sigh,
Minds can't be controlled they do as they please.
My mind travels out over distant seas
My spirit is free although here I lie

I lie here in this fetid little cell
And stare at that hole up there on the wall
I'm too tired to struggle, too hoarse to yell
My body shackled to a chain and ball
A prisoner for life in this earthly hell
Until my day in Execution Hall