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a true story

This is not my usual or preferred style of writing but it came to me one morning in the 5 minutes it took to walk from the parking lot to my office. It is, as the title claims, a true story.

My mother used to keep a bird
Rudy was his name.
in loving bars, with feathers clipped
he lived secure and tame.
In time his feathers grew again
and one cool autumn day
his prison door was left ajar
and Rudy flew away.

Far above his captors reach
he danced from tree to tree,
ignoring bribes laid out for him,
and sang triumphantly.
So long he'd been a prisoner
provided food and care,
I doubt he lived for many days
outside in cooler air.

I thought of him this morning
though it's been so many years
as I was walking in to work
and bird songs graced my ears.
Though some might say a captive tune
is much to be preferred
in chains, I wonder how I'd sing
were I free as a bird.

Words and Music

Pictures

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