Bird In my Hand

At my birth I sit alone in a hand,
not knowing what or where is this land.
I am a child just escaped from his shell,
only to be set in a land my parents know as hell.
I am an infant eye gray and big to the world around me,
set to fly the sky, as I will, but to never be free.
I am to be captured and feather plucked from my back end,
or left alone in a cage and have a poking stick is my only friend.
I will be the entertainment and talked for days and nights,
and to be toyed with for humans petty delights.
I am cursed with a life to be a show or to be dead,
for if this was your child would it be this you dread?
Tell me would you convict your child to a life like mine,
or would I just be an after thought something talked over wine.
My kind is few, but you grow to no bound,
will you be satisfied when our bodies rot in the ground?
We can speak just like you do every day,
so as parents of young don’t let my kind be your prey.

Written By
Robert Lee Niswander
Copyright 2004