Each in a little cage,
the birds call to each other
a pretty melody.

It might as well be
the complicated penning
of a personal sigh.

It is a sad thing, slavery,
the payment exacted for
a complacent life.

The bars, unseen for a while,
are now bright in the light
for the red dye

the nature of which
is ancient like the world
and as familiar too.

We had almost forgotten
its almond taste of
entropy.


jam20