I can see you with my eye.
As, so high in the sky, fly.
A tear falls from my eye, as I cry.
You, so near and so far.
I can see you through the bars.
I wish I was with you. Flying so high in the sky of blue.
I wish see, that I was that free.
So high above the trees, gently blowing in
the breeze.
I see you outside my window.
My window of glass.
All this time does pass.
The freedom of the birds. What a wonderful thing. When I was little I always used to dream I could fly. I guess we have all done that. It would seem here that freedom had been stripped away from the writer.
Blessings,
Lesa