A golden bird in a golden cage,
Did not it live, but just to age.
Every love and every wonder,
Was only what she lived in yonder,
For every dream and every hope,
Was one she lived so to elope,
But if she knew the cloudy thunder,
The dying trees that birds sleep under,
Indeed to fly would she not bother.
But the bird of golden
A bird indeed,
Just like pollens,
Must be freed.
She longs to be in a pack of feathers,
Round and round encircling others.
And as they mesmerize the widened eyes,
She'll realize, oh, all the lies.
A bird of golden as she is,
Is not, but to be laid a kiss.
While that may be of what she dreams,
She'll soon to know life ain't much cream.
And the golden bird hopes to be caged,
And prays and longs for a faster age.
Maybe then the pain will go,
As soon, as fast as melting snow.