All the worlds a Zoo, all the men and women merely a cage of temperaments.
They have their freedom and their enclosures, and one in her time has many cages.
That of SEVEN AGES.
The first being infancy, naive and vulnerable in a doting mothers arms.
Then an awestruck child delirious like a bee ablaze amongst flowers.
And then the grizzly teenager, plucked from innocence dulled by routine and immersed in a scurry of hormones.
Alas the young women, full of desperate aspirations, inspired like a poem, crude in victory, fired with passion in debate; seeking relative understanding.
Then the woman in blossoming round womb, like a nurturing veil, with devoted eyes, and a smile of all encompassing compassion, full of tender arms and selfless moments.
So then she plays her sixth part, where youth has shifted into recognition of maturity, reminiscence of the mind upon an ebbing tide, her pert purpose fulfilled, for a world too shallow for her antique wisdom. Again a harnessed voice, turning toward unfledged childishness, fears and tears her only possession.
Lastly the seventh and final cage that hails the end of an intense history, a second innocence, unvarnished demise, her epic thoughts , her hallowing pain, her gnosis wisdom, her silent grace is lost.