The Little Kingfisher

Once i had a wounded kingfisher in a golden cage -
she would not eat the fish i caught for her,
served on a golden platter, into her cage i had put -
no, she would not even take a look...

I was worried for my little kingfisher -
not knowing what else i could do for her...
I'd given her the best that i had: a golden cage -
but still she sat, mournfully quiet in a corner...

On the third morning she was looking not only glum -
but the rich colours of her feather had lost their lustre...
and still she sat, not moving, in her little corner -
and i was really worried, and sorry i could not help any further...

I sat myself down beside that golden cage and looked her in the eye -
and thought i saw a flicker of life - a cry for help - reaching out to me...
i was confused, and i was flustered, i couldn't place that look in her eye -
till it dawned on me, and i could finally understand, her need to be free...!

It was a look that spoke volumes -
and told of a tale i won't forget:
that she needs to be free to fly around -
to choose the fish in the pond or river...
she needs to be able to roam free -
not to be ogled at and fed from a platter...

Finally i had understood: that all she ever wanted -
was to be free - free from the cage, free from me...
all that she ever asked for was to be placed -
back on the picket fence, or on the old gum tree...
away from the crowd, and away from me -
to be allowed to fly free, choose a fish, two, or three...

So, quietly, i opened the tiny door of the cage -
and i, i set my little kingfisher free...
and once in a while, if i look hard -
at the picket fence or the old gum tree:
perched, busily preening or grooming herself -
my happy little kingfisher i would see...