Orange glow of sun low
Casts shimmering shadows of budding trees on the green grid fence.
Birds sing from all around,
Its seems at first that the fence confines them too,
But I gaze up with envious admiration
As they glide with ease over the boundary.
I refuse to walk the well worn grass path,
Beaten brown by sad souls.
I’ll make my own tracks
Looking up not down,
treading grass green not brown,
As the once caged sparrows circle my town.


By: Anon