Calm and still,
I sit upon the stairs,
Watching the birds
From my window sill.
How free, how jubilant
Those creatures are!
I wonder when I'd be
Blessed with those features
And a zealous spree.

I close my eyes,
And let my mind wander.
Those tiny little things
Face the burnt of weather,
Serene or rough,
With no surrender.
I'd love to be
So carefree yet persevering,
Chirping all the way,
Building rusty nests,
And soaring the sky high.

Oh! What constraints me?
My own mind.
Trapped in the prison of
My inner sublime.
I dream of flights of fancy,
Of finding pleasures in the mundane,
I long for my departed happiness,
And the magic of my pen.