Perhaps there's a room where the gullible go,
To hope where there's mud that fresh water will flow;
Naively imagine princesses will bathe
And baptise themselves in belief they'll be saved.

Perhaps, somewhere sunny, the happy reside,
With innocent grins and a joy deep inside,
A smile and a nod for each neighbour they meet
And cheer beyond reason, in soft summer heat.

Perhaps, in a dungeon, the gloomy are pacing,
Their hearts trudging sadly, their darkened minds racing,
In search of escape from their blackness, to light,
Yet chained to the flagstoned floor night after night.

Perhaps, in a tower, the dependant are locked,
Until they relinquish their need to be mocked,
Abandon their crying for mercy in loss,
For hugs every time that they realise who's boss.

Perhaps, on an island, the ignorant stare,
At boats passing by and at 'planes in the air,
At ignorant colleagues who work in the rain,
Constructing their homes to demolish again.

Perhaps, out there somewhere, a lady can't sleep;
Is longing for friendship she'll manage to keep,
For gazing at eyes that let in her own goal,
At someone whose spirit can make her life whole.