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Jethro Tull
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Sanctuary
Dear uncle sold her into the purest kind of slavery.
Hood-eyed little middlemen profited from damaged goods
along the way.
Good angels brought her back to a last Nepal summer.
Debased, hollow-faced, a smile might become her.
Now she's cosied up, cosied up and comforted
in the warm flush of September.
Gone before winter.
Wondering as to might-have-beens.
Somebody's daughter in sanctuary, waiting.
Seen through softer cage of kindness, far and further still away,
from time-warp Victorian zoos
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where staring ice cream gameboys play.
Big paws, worn claws and swishing tails.
More damaged goods in the market sales.
Too proud for anger, too late for hate: resigned in dignity.
Gone before winter.
Purring might-have-beens.
Somebody's kitten in sanctuary, waiting.
Somebody near you in sanctuary, waiting.
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