I
Why can’t I catch you, freedom?
Why must you flutter from my grasp?
Why can’t I lock you in a silver cage
And close it with a diamond clasp?
I’ll cherish you and hold you dear
Until my interest wanes —
At which point you’ll waste away —
Maybe then I’ll feel your pain,
But knowing I can’t live without you,
I’ll fetch my net again.
II
Behold the fragile songbird,
Whistling to a diff’rent key.
Heart spilling forth each day
Into whatever song it sings.
“There are many things I’ve heard,
Things I’m ready to see.”
But when ready to fly away,
It can barely spread its wings —
It finds it is a trapped bird
In the choking cage of reality.
III
“What is flight but mortal’s fancy,
To glide among the clouds
At the mercy of the slightest breeze —”
Or so the skeptics chorus.
But those of wing and those of sky
Shake their heads and hark:
“’Tis not the will of the winds
That keeps us in mid-flight.
Nay, ’tis only the very joy
Of being one with the air.”