even freedom has a price
I am kept for my song. Kept for my plumage. Kept because I am small and easy to keep. I am caged, but it is not a prison to me. For here in the deep, men sing and I answer.
My double breath-full song must be wonderful. When I pause, they run from the tunnels to carry me into the light of fresh air for my song. Mine, and they’re mine.
I do not rise with the wind or seek a mate. I do not need a nest or forage for seeds. Nor am I prey to snakes or hawks. I am clean and fed and full-throated with purpose.
Better to be the indentured harbinger of hazards in exchange for a life of clean? To fly high if briefly, or to sing of freedom? Depends which side of the cage is asking.
( coal miner photo credit Library of Congress )
