It is morning, as declared by my aging <br />feathered friend from his cage. <br />A wild bird echoes back, and a duet ensues <br />of chirps and tunes of differing dialects <br />and breeds. <br /> <br />How easy to assume his caged song <br />is a lament: a cry of longing <br />to the wild, to the nature he knows not. <br /> <br />Truth be told, I suspect the reverse- <br />a mocking of the wild <br />seeking one spare meal <br />and the refuge enjoyed <br />by my sad, sad companion, <br />secretly revelling in the luxury <br />of gilded domestication.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/call-of-the-wild/
