A songbird in a gilded cage
gave to me the gift of song.
Soft and low with gentle tones
she warbled for me the whole night long.
When I was low she gave me cheer
and courage at times that I felt fear.
Was I wrong to keep her caged?
Such spirits ought to be free range.
Today I woke and something’s wrong
The air is still, there is no song
I rushed toward the gilded cage
The latch is open
The lark has flown.