I am a man, a flying man,
Flying around the garden.
Never stopping to stand.

They are the catchers,
Looking for prizes.
Those misguided snatchers.

I fly around,
Spreading love all around.
Such a nice thing to be so high off the ground.

So the catchers,
They jump,
They leap,
They bound,
Waving their tempting net,
With that lovely swishing sound.

Then I am caught and put into a jar
A nice little habitat,
Behind glass bars.

They feed me food,
But are quite rude ,
If I stare at the meadow out there.

So I sat,
And my image changed,
Into that of a rat.

They let me go,
In disgust.
Left me on my own with no one to trust.

But I escaped from there,
And went back to the meadow.
The catchers didn't care.

"That rat will never grow."

Then they left,
And lucky for me,
I was back to a being a flying man.
They couldn't cage what I could be.