Birds may be trained and tamed,
learn to love their bars and bonds,
eat from the hand and turn a phrase,
but perhaps one day
the latch on the door is unlocked,
and, flying to freedom,
from bough to bough flits the bird.
The captor may call, but in vain;
bird to bird sings a song,
flying, floating, fleeing wide,
a righteous sun above its head,
the breath of God beneath its wing.