I look threatening, but I am kind,
I look ignorant, but I am prudent,
I look alive, but I am death.
Oh if a bird could talk,
Oh the stories it could tell.
Oh the stories of bliss,
Oh the stories of gloom to pass to the youth.
To fly sky high, meet the ground with no sound.
To be encaged, without a goodbye,
To be so frightened, that she cries.
To not search for big bills, but try grasping her hope of potential to fulfill.
The tears of mother help a plant flourish, until it is restricted,
For she lives our fear of a depart from home, without a parting.
Oh if a bird can talk,
Oh the stories she could tell.
— The End —