Prisoners

There's a lovely expanse of green before me
While I stare wistfully through a pane of glass
Though a free man, through work incarcerated
An indentured slave from the new working class

My physician says its a matter of choice
We simply choose to live and work this way
I'd gladly just give it up in an instant
But I have mortgage, insurance and bills to pay

Or perhaps I've just become too old

The End

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