caged bird.

When the sun is bright on the upland slopes

when the wind stirs soft through the springing grass

and the river flows like a stream of glass

when the first bird sings and the first bud opes

and the faint perfume from its chalice steals

I know what the caged bird feels.

I know why the caged bird sings

when his wing is bruised and his bosom sore

when he beats his bars and he would be free

it is not a carol of joy or glee

but a prayer that he sends from his deep heart's core

but a plea, that upward to heaven he flings

I KNOW why the caged bird sings!

It's always YOU I'm singing about.