I live in seclusion, cloistered and coy. Taciturn and weary, I watch you go by. From under my ledge, I yearn to be free. If only I dared, if only I cared.
A leather bodice, of gunmetal grey, Of polished iron, for which I overlay. Woven in chains, I shine like mercury, A knight I am not, of the 17th century.