Happy chirps and sweet birdsong,
Fill the air above the throng
The people crowd the wooden walkways,
Pointing and calling at the Birds
Brightly coloured in the gloom
The Birds fly round and round a cage of doom
Long legged, graceful, stepping forth
Huddling together for the warmth.
Some ducks swim by,
A ripple of water in their wake,
Splash Splash
The sound a red-headed herons feet make
Pecking at the walls of their wire cage,
staring at the sun through strips of grey
Born in captivity, never to be free,
Bars and wire, are all these birds will ever see.
Red and yellow, blue and grey, black with green stripes,
Yet they are all dull in a way.
Freedom evades them,
Like the blue sky overhead
It shimmers in the distance,
Like the bright sun in the sky.
Waddling quietly along the ground
Soaring gracefully through the air,
Inside the confines of their prison.
A powerful cassowary struts beneath,
The wooden walkway where a boy shrieks
“Look, mummy, look at that bird!”
“Hush, dear.” She says, with a fear of being overheard.
The Birds, they fly.
The Birds, they swim.
The Birds, they walk.
The Birds, in their prison.
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