It is morning, as declared by my aging
feathered friend from his cage.
A wild bird echoes back, and a duet ensues
of chirps and tunes of differing dialects
and breeds.
How easy to assume his caged song
is a lament: a cry of longing
to the wild, to the nature he knows not.
Truth be told, I suspect the reverse-
a mocking of the wild
seeking one spare meal
and the refuge enjoyed
by my sad, sad companion,
secretly revelling in the luxury
of gilded domestication.
Now I'm just being obnoxous. My last line would be: of his gold-plated cage
That little devil. This is a good thought. It gets at what poems want to say - what the world is really like. I would get into it faster: It is morning, my old canary sings from his prison cell. A wild bird outside sings back, and a duet of chirps and tunes ensues. In the middle, I would say 'doesn't know' in place of 'knows not' - a pointless archaism, I think 'Truth be told' is kind of a cliche. Just say it! I suspect the reverse is true - Tweety is mocking his brother, hungry for a single meal of seed while he revels in the luxury of gilded domestication.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really enjoyed this poem Lori, but I dislike to see caged anything, especially birds, I don't even like bonzai! lol Your poem presents a novel way of the birds eye view, very well indeed.10 from flapping for her life! lol Tai