By Rosie Holt

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Roll up! Roll up! She’s in a cage
Admire with ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’!
Marvel as she screams with rage,
And prod her through the bars

The silly thing she cannot see
How nice her cage is done!
She only wants to turn and flee,
To what she thinks is fun!

She’s drying up and growing old,
While all the world goes on,
But as to that we only scold,
“You’re pure while they’re all wrong!”

You are a relic, kept apart,
Unblemished like a doll,
Stop pleading for your life to start,
Accept your rotting soul!

It’s best that you’re incarcerated,
In this tomb of ours,
Locked, or better still cremated,
You, not life, shall make your scars.