A Bird in a Cage

By Sam Exner

Sing, Nightingale, Sing— you beg. I must ask— is that all you do?

And why would I sing— for you?

When here in golden bar,

My straw nest in the flush green wood so far.

Away from home, away I am, indeed,

I wish every day, every hour to someday be freed.

In this cage, I sit by the window, staring out at the world I once knew,

I cannot help but feel blue.

And this— know that this— is all because— of you.

Greed! A filthy human trait!

It was there at your first breath— and there for every path you take.

And a wicked end— yes, for you I pray, I hope is your fate.

You watch with deadly eyes, you watch me sit perched on my thorned throne.

Little feet, little fingers on the cold gold metal— nothing like my true home.

Yet still you cry— Sing, Nightingale, Sing! You demand and cry!

But how can I sing? How could I sing when all I wish to do is die?

I honestly do not understand you— your silly commands.

My tweets are words of sorrow, and my songs pitiful demands.

Yet I do not wish to sing any more, to whom will I sing?

Now— do not tell me— you think I’ll sing— to you?

Is that what you expect me to do?

My songs are for love— for my dearest darling.

For she— ah yes, she is my beautiful starling!

Yet— she may never hear me again— never hear me sing freely in the tree.

Because I am a bird in a cage— who may never be let free.