Words.
So rare. From the corner of your eyes, you often cast a short glance at us, then you continue to work.
None.
There was none at first. There was no blue ocean, no buffalos, no colours, and no path to the sanctuary we enjoy now.
But you said: I could do more.
Then you start working. Against all odds you worked with dedication.
You weaved. You weave with heart and soul, working the ten little ugly fingers so hard it churned out rainbow.
A tiny turquoise ribbon, follows by the red, and the royal blue. As though you know we were watching, you made a bright orange ribbon to cheer up. Then there was purple and yellow at last.
One by one they flow, inch by inch they extended into rainbow. Light and soft they float, out from the tiny space, beyond the bars.
Freedom.
You gave us freedom, but none for yourself.
Path.
You created a path for us through the bars. You gave life to the land. You showed us path.
You use it so wisely.
