On the far edge of the city, in a small park, a little girl sat on the edge of a fountain and swung her legs. As a breeze ruffled her brown curls, she looked to the sky, with it’s frame of tall metal spires and glowing lights. Her hand went to the slim book resting beside her.
It was a picture book, the perfect one. She’d finally found it.
“A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.”
It was a poem, reworked in a picture book, written a long, long time ago by a forgotten author. The title of it was The Caged Bird. It was a lovely book.
It was a lovely poem.
The little girl pulled her eyes away from the sky. Her legs stopped swinging. She picked up the book, hugged it to her chest and moved over to the shadow of a grove of trees, off the path, where few others went. On a little concrete stump, a pigeon pecked at nonexistent bits and crumbs. She tentatively reached out a hand to it.
Another hand suddenly clamped down on her wrist.
“Time to go home, sweet.”
The little girl didn’t look at the one who spoke. Instead, she turned her eyes back to the sky, after the bird who had flown off at the words, off into the sky framed by metal and glass and light.
“A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.”
