A flock of birds fly in the sky 

And the numbers of them are daily on a rise,

They relish the beauty of nature

And sky to them is quite a bliss

Because nature blossoms them by a lot of nurture.

Trees are their places to stay,

Due to this, they always appear as gay.

They are the amazing creatures on earth

And the painters love to draw their features

Which has no dearth.

But sometimes danger appears as an unwanted guest to them

Because some hunters lurk around to prey

And they find it as no such matter of any kind of condemn.

Hound dogs and ferocious cats giggle at them

Making them scared by their affrays,

And this makes the birds' lives, just like a crok of astray.

One such bird was there in a nest

And she was looking so beautiful,

But she was little tired,

She was giving her wings, a little bit of rest.

A haughty boy was strolling across the street

And he wanted the world at his feet,

He looked at her and became greedy

And caged her for his own pleasure,

Just to make her life absolutely weedy.

The bird lost its glory gradually,

Its wings got too much of rest

Which was not needed factually.

It started to look at everyone with the pleading eyes

But each one of the idiotic folks only enjoyed its beauty

Not the painful song humming inside.

She started to forget the definition of beauty persistent in nature,

With a lot of irritation she started to hit the cage with her beak,

It gave her a lot of pain

But she never stopped to tweak,

Everyone in that idiot's family ignored that action

Considering her too weak to reach to a twig.

But she was desperate to come out of that dark confinement

And the world was ready to welcome her

With a holy cauldron of refinement.

She started to suffer from a tiny dose of procrastination,

But there was no other options

And she was desperate to survive.

So one day, she broke that cage

And tried to fly.

With a lot of rage,

She got her rhythm back slowly

And flew away towards the sky very swiftly,

Her beauty got a new life again

And there was no iota of pain.

Let those birds fly and breathe

And let the beauty recognise her beautification to wreathe.