Agony of a Swindled Bird

Now it is I chime with sage; The god of wit! Clanged his sword with warders Of profound thinking, Buried the hatchet with the successors of intense cognizance, Scrawled an epitaph of honour, To raise the Lazarus of creativity, And returned with bolstered wits; Boxed in Sage's cranial faculty. The wind of Sage blew away the foggy cloud, For all to know that it is but only a shroud, Sage made it known, that however small the cub, Not will it cease to live as a scrub, It could even blow the whistle, against a crowd. I chirped in a melodious tone, Spread my two fully-feathered serrated wings. My eyes were blinking in delight, I said to myself; 'at last! the saviour is come', When she stood her beautifully built figure Before my sight. Oh dear! I was in a cage, I was in my home, Where I was made to secure. She never passed, To notice as I gesticulated, She was blind to my pretty gestures. I cried! All my chimeric dreams, Escaping! through the chimney, I thought. Almost was I drifting into a tearful sleep, When she freed me from my home. She said I was beautiful! 'Pretty! ' she yelled, My beauty striked her short of married phrases. Poorly did I know, That all my gestures were only a bid, I knew not it was all a bargain, All I wanted was to be loved by her. R.I.P, Lucy Trayfield. Note: The above poem is based on fiction, Therefore,it is an unreal event with unreal names.