THE BIRD'S CAGE AND MINE

Your home is nature not this cage,
Poor little bird, l feel your rage.
Your song is not to call your mate
But just to cry your gloomy fate.

Poor little bird, you're not alone,
But lots of weak men share your tone.
To speak they must be with the throng
Or people will not mind their tongue.

They can speak when they say what men
Want them to say, not what they ken.
They must say what men want to hear
Or their words will not reach their ear.

My bird, l want to speak with you;
I suffer as much as you do.
Your cage is your jail where you stay,
But mine is what l have to say.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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