Although her cage was lined with feathers, bright
and soft, she mourned, as only caged birds mourn
when all their bedding comes from feathers torn
in fear - when all their fears are fears of flight,
when all their predators walk at night -
and when, safe locked inside life's cage, and worn
thin by life's long rage, they nest alone in fright.
Through tarnished bars of ornate lace, day-light
is dawning, full of grace, and someone knows
why this bird sings (though only one can hear
her voice) So desperately the trained bird tries,
each word a strangled, sweetened cry that flows
from choice that's clearly chained, but not by fear,
(for fear's untamed) - and safely reined, she flies.