And watched the daylight passing within her captive wall,
With no-one to heed her call.
The evening hour is fading within the dwindling sun,
And in a lonely moment those embers will be gone
And the last of all the young birds flown.
Her days of precious freedom, forfeited long before,
To live such fruitless years behind a guarded door,
But those days will last no more.
Tomorrow at this hour she will be far away,
Much farther than these islands,
Or the lonely Fotheringay
Contributed by Bernart - 2013/7/31 - 09:57
Flavio Poltronieri - 2015/12/12 - 13:03
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