THE PUNISHMENT LINE

A cold draft along the corridor,

The echoes of a squeaking door.

Dim light through the French window glass,

Shadows spreading over the lights trespass.

Time passes and fears tentacles spread,

Beginning with bad thoughts inside my head,

My legs are shaking in my plight

The door opens with a flash of light,

Come in!! A gruff voice confirms despair.

Inside I go and standing there,

I hold my hand out for the harm,

The cane doth rent across my palm

But alas the waiting, it is done!

The awful fear has now all gone.

© 3/7/2005 Colin F Jones