The back and forth from feeding, bathing, it brakes the monotony of each day. And yet always returning, to the perch.

The embodiment of life spent in a gilded cage.

Over the years the cage may have changed, the ornate beauty of the dwellings disguised the captivity. It was captivity nonetheless.

And after a fashion it became comfortable, perhaps too comfortable. A free creature simply adapted to the circumstances and ultimately the captivity.

There were several mates over the years, hatchlings raised and gone now, just like the mates. Only you miss the hatchlings more.

The feathers older but still beautiful, the eyes still sparkled on occasion. Still capable of a beautiful song, but sung all too infrequently now.

There were periods of freedom and flight, when the cage door was left ajar. Only to return to captivity that, now was self-imposed. A free bird and spirit both forget how to fly after a fashion.

And still on some summer nights, you hear the music and dream of flight. Somehow still believing, that freedom is within your sight.

The day is coming, so your instincts say; when you must get off the perch, make it to the door, you either fly away soon, or sing no more.

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