They’ve put me in a dungeon

And demanded that I spin gold out of straw.

Someone told them that I could.

But I don’t know how.

I love windows,

And there are none in here.

But slowly I begin to twist,

To make a mountain out of my molehill.

My soul protracts images from the walls of my prison cell,

The stories that the shadows tell,

The characters, their roles.

I pull the rays of an unseen sun into my heart.

I’m happy here.

And now the straw emits a light

So attractive.

It drags my love right into its core,

And as I stand, and turn, and dance,

And pull it so gently,

Somehow I see, I’m drawing out its gold.

-jenn