As a child you run wild and they let you.

Soon there will come the corsets and those long closed-in halls with those long closed-in walls, but for now your cheeks are rosy and your arms free in the middy blouse and you don't see anything around you but the wide open sky.

(Anything at all, so it is hardly a surprise when the carriage clatters too close on the open road where you are breathing in your last breath of air.)

(You do not cry, for there is nothing left for you to do but to die.)