“Free, Free, Free!” shouted the old man, suddenly, awake from his sleep.

She, surprised, sleeping beside him asked—“what is free?” in her usual tone—sad and deep.

His glistening face glistened twice in her sight.

One hand resting on her naked breast—wild in the wind,

she asked again, “who is free, my dear, in such a late night?”

He retrieves from his reality, aghast, and a benign smile ran through his face.

“My soul, my wife,

I have untied it from the life of tree,

And sold it to the almighty, for free.”

Advertisements