Golden beak pecks at the bars,
longing to glide among the stars,
yet here it is trapped inside,
but on the breeze, it yearns to fly.

As others do so blissfully
it watches them so wistfully
knowing that it only learned
to hide from the sun or feel it burn.

With its pecks and sun and rain,
the old steel bars begin to change,
orange rust, it begins to thin,
just perhaps, a future win.

A lifetime watching them with ease
outside alive upon the breeze
second-hand freedom flying
high above as it sits crying.

And then finally the steel gives way,
spread her wings on this day,
Not trapped anymore soaring free,
amazing what her eyes can see.