For Chase, my little mourning dove

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Mourning dove, trapped in a cage,

the cat leering at you through the bars;

you hide your head under your wing

and pretend to sleep.

The little girl plays a song out of key;

the music’s too loud,

but there’s nothing you can do

but wail along to the tune.

Mourning dove, trapped in a cage,

watching the peacock outside the window;

you wish you had his beauty for yourself,

feeling inferior to him.

You compare his blue plumage to your plain,

his intricate tail to your own.

Don’t you know that tail is fake?

His real tail underneath is brown.

Mourning dove, trapped in a cage,

longing to burst free from your prison,

thrashing against the unforgiving bars

that you yourself have forged.

Little bird, will those bars to disappear,

they only exist within your mind.

Set yourself free from the trap that you’ve made,

and fly away, little bird, fly away.