I know why the caged bird sings.
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I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
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The caged bird sings with a fearful trill...
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I couldn't tell fact from fiction,
Or if the dream was true
My only sure prediction
In this world was you.
I'd touch your features inchly
Beard love and dared the cost,
The sented spiel reeled me unreal
And I found my senses lost.
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I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. Still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I guess I just miss my friend.
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One robin caged and Heaven's mad! But when to just that one you add vast flocks of battered battery birds and half starved calves in crated herds and multitudes of tethered sows in narrow stalls - these horrors rouse all Heaven to a rage so wild it's former rage seems a wonderous mild.
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'The crow may be caged, but its thoughts are in the cornfield.'
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