Unkindness

All we have done

is that which

you

have shown us.

 

Here, in this cage,

in view of the sun and sky,

the wind puffs at my wings,

teasing like a

mischievous imp.

 

I cannot sing.

I will not cry.

And I will

not stop

pulling at these

chains.

 

And yet,

when I dream of

flying

with my brothers,

and finding a mate,

and hunting

on the high winds

of a glorious summer

 

Together,

you call us unkind.

All we have done

is that which you’ve

shown us.

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