Free to flap my wings
And chatter,
Map out my plot
In sensuous tread,
Admire my bob-tail colours,
The graceful wire
Of my horizon.
My song was made for flocking
No mockingbird, I chirp,
Flirt with my admirers,
Gulp down the praise
Thrown in handfuls,
Swing in short arcs,
Giddy with ambition.
Once, a small hand
Managed the insinuation of bars
Stroked my neck,
Begging for a dab of
Glamour by association.
I closed my eyes,
Leaned into a snatched caress
Blessed the owner with extra trills
That echoed long beyond departure.
They fade now -
Admirers and colours -
One drawn to the next songsmith,
The other to the too-small space
Beneath my feet.
I strain my gaze
To hills that were only ever vistas,
Heave shortened breaths,
And listen for the bell.
Inspired by a visit to The Birdcage, Norwich - image is a LuLu Guinness Birdcage Umbrella (thanks, Google).
Cross-posted to the Cambridgeshire NaPoWriMo blog.
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