The king was very wroth
And tossed the lady fair
Into a sooty tower
'cept straw and dirt was bare
He let them feed her just enough
To keep her still alive
There was no way she could escape
And night and day she cried
The modern woman then awoke
And tried to shake the dream
How could that king be so unfair
So cruel, petty, and mean?
Then the Holy Spirit whispered
My child you must get out
That woman in the dream, you had
Was you without a doubt
So fly, my little butterfly
Be free of your malaise
You were created for my glory
You were created for my praise!
Written by Jean Walker Rawlings
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