Alone

Left again,

In a room of white.

Fluorescent bulbs,

Forget the glow,

Of humans, oh so bright.

But where have all the people gone,

To leave me on my own.

Metal beds,

And wooden sheets,

My prison made of glass.

I sometimes yearn,

For the tickle under my feet,

Of soft, green grass.

My heart strings,

Pulled tight.

My screws all loose,

Where is his dearest Squirrel,

To save our broken Moose.