Bird in a Cage
How much I feel for the poor things
Unable to fly or spread their wings,
Each day with the same view
Sad and lonely nothing to do.
To the bird the world is that room
Confined to the cage, that's his tomb.
For life without freedom is nothing at all
No matter whether you're big or small.
Longing to fly on the breeze
Soaring high over the trees
Seeing new places every day
Flying and twirling in glorious play.
Never knowing freedom of the bird that fly's
Sitting on his perch ‘till he dies.
How can a bird that's born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing, like a stuffed toy.
© Hazel 2012
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Comments about this poem (Bird in a Cage by Hazel Connelly )
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