Friday, March 25, 2011
My little caged bird sings so sweetly for me.
He whistles while I sharpen my knives.
I keep him inside, sometimes his cage hangs in the sun.
The sun moves across the room, it is brightest at 3:05.
It falls across his cage.
He doesn't like the sun.
He prefers the shade.
I cover him at night, he doesn't need to see out into the dark anyway.
Bad things out there.
I found him in the forest, poked him with a stick.
I brought him home and locked him up.
I had the cage!
He likes it better here with me. I know.
Sing for me! Sing! Sing!
Of places I'll never go.
Of those faces I'll never see.
Thanks T.S. for the parakeet story