The Bird

I may call it a caged sound
Or a trapped melody
But what really exists inside
Is the bird that sings for me.

The color he shows us all
Is the color of the sun
The yellow little thing
Is trapped and cannot run.

His songs are of sorrow
He wishes to break free
Fly around the whole world
Or simply stand on a tree.

He can only see through iron bars
Iron bars he cannot break
And the only beauty he can show us
Is the lovely music he can make.


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